It was afternoon, and we were serving lunch, and by we, I mean me, myself, and I. This is because I am the only one in the house that can do anything apparently.
They call me a cracker behind my back, even though I have the same color skin as the people I am serving.
I try not to get offended, but it seems like they say it for that very purpose. The cracker is thin, and it breaks easily.
If I were to think of a person as a cracker, I would think of something that crumbles at the least bit of pressure. But that's not me. I have worked hard all my life. I have gone to bed with sore muscles, and tired bones.
Nothing that happens to me makes me crumble; like the crackers I serve these people with their soup.
Why should I even pay attention to them? I don't know why. I should be thinking that they are the crackers, because if anything ever happened to them in their privileged life, they would surely dissolve in the hot water that they were dropped.
But I would never say this out loud. They would say it even more often.
So, every time they say it from now on, I will think about a Ritz, because they are so good; the best of all the crackers.
That's how I will think from now on. I may be a cracker, but I will be the best, and the most flavorful cracker they have ever met.
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