I woke up last Saturday morning in a king-sized bed with satin sheets and half a dozen pillows.  At the foot of the bed a wall of windows framed a glassy, sparkling lake and an empty blue sky. I yawned and stretched lazily in the warm, golden light that illuminated through the enormous panes of glass. A charming golden retriever bumbled in through the door and jumped into the bed with me. I laughed and laughed as he kissed my face with his sopping wet sandpaper tongue.  Then a rather attractive and fit 6’5” man (for the sake of this dramatic description, I’ll call him a lumberjack) came in and shooed the puppy off the cloud of blankets, smiled an adoring smile and whispered “Good Morning, beautiful lady… breakfast?” I shook my head in delight and thought to myself, “Hmmm … Decatur.”

Had I been doing yoga, I think this scene would’ve fit nicely in a Yoplait yogurt commercial.

The classiness prevailed when McDonald’s became the breakfast location of choice.