But I decided to eat it anyway.
... and that reminded me of at least three stories.
Story one is that in our family cemetery is a headstone that reads:
This man came here and was sick.
He died so we buried him.
Story two:
My widowed grandmother with four girls and two boys that were my mom, three of my aunts and two of my uncles took a wagon to visit an elderly relative. That relative made biscuits for them before they set off for home. One sibling did not eat any biscuits. When asked why they had not eaten any biscuits they said it was because that relative's nose had been dripping into the batter.
Story three is about burnt toast and generally is passed on as relationship advice:
No need to tell the story just if someone you love serves you burnt toast, eat it.
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