Two slices of toast in the morning, butter melting on the steaming bread. Two eggs, over easy, yolks like eyes staring up from my mother’s skillet. Two cardinals dining with me outside my window, picking up the oiled seed dropped to the ground by the chickadees. Two friends who called with the same spectacular news.
Two minutes in the shower, not nearly long enough. That’s a scrub, not a luxury. Two new furry slippers keeping two feet warm on a cold day, the second in a row. Two chapters of Revelation while I dry off enough to actually feel dry.
Two chicken breasts to thaw for tonight’s dinner. Two pints of ice cream in the freezer for later in the afternoon. Which flavor will I choose? Two glasses of water to down. I never drink enough of it. My brother and I both detest water. Is that weird?
Twins coming. Now, that WILL be two of everything!