I'm the kind of person who skips to the conversation when reading a book.
“These biscuits are to die for,” Deirdre said when the waitress brought us a plate of biscuits and cornbread at Cracker Barrel.
It was just the girls — Deirdre, Grace, Hannah, and me — out for a dinner together. We never do anything like this, but it had been a hard week (such a hard week!), and it seemed like the right thing to do. A splurge. At Cracker Barrel.
The boys — Finley and Bobby — were off to a soccer game. Grace and I had already planned to go to a JJ Heller concert, and then we just decided, kind of spur of the moment, to do the whole dinner thing with Deirdre and Hannah before. It was perfect.
Cracker Barrel makes light fluffy biscuits. I don’t know if their biscuits are exceptional, but, partly because I rarely make biscuits, and partly because they are served warm with butter and jelly, they always taste heavenly.
“That’s such a weird expression,” Grace said. She’s into words these days and their meanings. “I mean, would you really die for one of these biscuits?”
“I suppose it’s like being drop-dead gorgeous,” Deirdre said. “Who would really want to be so gorgeous that they drop dead? Or that other people drop dead when they see them? It’s just dumb.”
We all agreed.
As we sat there, eating our biscuits, making fun small talk, I looked at my three daughters.
These girls are to die for, I thought. They are drop-dead gorgeous.
And that’s the truth. I would willingly give my life for any one of them. I would drop dead for them.
I am blessed.