Dragon Breath

I stopped to see my parents the other afternoon. Within a minute (maybe only a millisecond) of sitting down with my mother at the kitchen table she asked, "did you eat garlic today?"

And then some! Amy made roasted garlic soup and shared some with me and I loved every garlicky spoonful.

Great, I thought. My last period class (the one I had after I ate said yummy lunch) is probably on Facebook calling me Dragon Breath, starting a page Slay the Dragon, photoshopping my last yearbook photo so that I have flames coming out of my mouth. Or I'd become a character in someone's anime project.

Why couldn't a colleague be as honest as my mom? It's not as if I don't have 3 packs of gum in my desk on the ready, and another couple on purse. Wait, scratch that. My mother has also told me I need to go on a diet and other such stuff that--albeit true--I wouldn't want to hear on a daily basis. Especially if not from her.

A little while later I took my bad breath and a beautiful salmon filet that my mother gave me (that I planned to eat for dinner with spinach--and more garlic) home, grateful for my mother's honesty and generosity. I was also grateful for Amy's generosity and the delicious soup that held me until dinner.

And frankly, the moment passed. I was no longer concerned about what my students think of my breath.