It's All Gravy

        Friday I was driving home, on a main drag wannabee, when out of the corner of my eye I spotted someone coming out of a building. It's always been a building that I never paid any attention to, in spite of me passing it twice a day. Is it an office? A tiny restaurant? A hardware store? Not sure, because there is no sign--at least not one that I've seen.

     Since this is the first time I saw any activity in front of this little stretch of a strip mall, my interest was piqued. And then I saw a sign painted on the glass door. This is what the gold letters said:

                       The Gravy Station

      And then I realized that the man coming out of that building was holding onto a huge tureen of...gravy? 

      Of course, that is not what it said. I'm not sure exactly what the sign said, and certainly that man was not cradling a vat of fatty gravy, but all the way home, I thought about how wonderful it would be if we could stop by--on our way home--and get a tub of gravy.

       You're going to make some mashed potatoes but are in the mood for something besides butter to dollop onto them? Stop by the Gravy Station.

       You're going to have some biscuits and eggs, but you're hankering for some gravy to ladle over those biscuits? Stop by the Gravy Station. (They've got several types to choose from, after all.)

        You're a bit blue, and want to take hunks of bread and sop up something rich and greasy? Stop by the...

        Well, perhaps it's a good idea there is not really a Gravy Station. But it was a pleasant daydream as I hurtled home.

        What kind of daydream has entertained you recently?