If you came over and saw this pile on the counter I would roll my eyes and say, "You know kids." If the Cowgirl opened her mouth to interrupt I would step on her foot and tell her to go practice piano. Loudly. If the Dancer started to protest I would hand her a full jar of glitter and tell her to knock herself out.
I know- it's wrong. People are starving. We have worldwide food shortages. It's immature.
That is my lunch.
I just don't like the crust!
It's not like eating the apple peel because it has all the nutrients. I've learned to do that.
There's no extra vitamins in the dry crust. There are no nutrients from chewing through the tough outer shell.
And think about it - we don't have a great collective opinion of crust. How do we describe tough old grouches? Crusty. That's how.
(I wonder if I'll ever be crusty? I'm going to pause and imagine that for a minute. It was funny. Back to the post)
My mother, the Party Cracker, used to say that she knew she was a grown up when she realized she didn't have to eat the crust if she didn't want to.
I just looked at the pile of bread crumbs on my counter and had an opposite revelation - I think this is proof that I will never grow up.
At least, not on the inside. I'll try to appear dignified to bystanders.
If I am a guest at your house, I will eat the crusty old crust.
Depends on how good of friends we really are.