No Shirt, No Shoes, No Service

Bright and early ..... no make that very early, not so much bright, since the sun was still deciding to come on up ...... I was up this morning. Cinnamon dough to rise. The caramel cooked to perfection today. It has to come to that rolling boil before you add the vanilla extract and the heavy cream to achieve that satiny smooth perfection dripping from the spoon. Really it does. If you rush it, it will crystallize on the rolls, making the end product a little crunchy. He who loves sweets will eat the mistakes, though.

Anyhow, the morning's tasks are running quite smoothly and by the time I unlock the store at 8, I have already done two loads of laundry, cleaned the restrooms, made the coffee and the rolls. I sit down to relax at my desk with my computer while I wait for all the hungry breakfast crowd and he who complains about the price of fuel is off on some errand that involves driving. The door opens and as I rise from my chair I am treated to a view of a tattoo on the bare belly of a young man. Can I help you? (all the while doubting that I can actually help this person). I do not recognize face or tattoo. He is accompanied by a woman of indeterminate age and another shirtless friend and I know that they aren't staying here in the kampground. We want some of that good coffee. How does he know it's good? While the two males are pouring and doctoring their coffee the female is wandering among the merchandise. She is in shorts and a shirt that look like she slept in them. Her hair is unkempt and she doesn't appear to be one to attempt to enhance her appearance with make-up, so I can't really tell if she just tumbled out of a fitful sleep or if this is her "look". She spies a sample size bottle of Pert shampoo and the three meet at the counter for a discussion on the number of heads this bottle will wash. They finally agree that it won't take much for them all to get a shower.

There is a glass display case holding my sock monkeys for display and Tattoo says to his female companion, Now, honey, them ain't for sale, they's just to look at. I don't bother to correct him. He starts to laugh and then looks at his Honey ....... Hell, them monkeys kinda look like you. He is still chuckling as they all shuffle out to their car in their bare feet. And, after some consideration, I have to agree with him.