Jogging down the hall for fear that 10 year old Lizzie had taken it upon herself to make breakfast again, Donna imagined Granna's kitchen bursting into flames. She cringed, remembering the singed dish towel that was collateral damage from Lizzie's last cooking scheme.
"Hey, there! Good mornin'! I know my biscuits smell good, but I didn't think you'd come runnin' in like that!" shouted Granna cheerfully. Donna, with a slightly wrinkled forehead, replied, "Oh, good morning, Granna. Just making sure that Lizzie wasn't trying to 'surprise' me with breakfast in bed again. Yes, it does smell good. Let me get that for you." Taking hold of the spatula, Donna shuffled in front of the stove to poke at the scrambled eggs. Granna reluctantly took a seat at the table, watching as Donna checked the biscuits in the oven.
"Did you set the egg timer, Granna?" asked Donna. With a sigh, Granna stood up from the table, and put her arm around Donna's waist.
"Donna, I'm thrilled to have you and the girls here with me. You know I miss ya when you're away, an' I appreciate your help. But, this is my house, an' my kitchen, an' I enjoy cookin' for my grankids. I ain't never had no servants. Matter o' fact, I like to serve up a good meal m'self." Patting her daughter-in-law on the shoulder, Granna smiled and pulled her biscuits out of the oven.
"Buttermilk biscuits!" squeeled Lizzie with glee as she sniffed her way into the kitchen and rubbed her eyes.
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