Breakfast Seesaw

I scrambled out of that denim jacket pocket and hopped straight onto the sunlit dining table. Right on a woven jute placemat sat a fluted white ramekin with a flat wooden butter knife resting across its rim. Talk about an irresistible seesaw! I trotted onto the handle end—tap!—and the wooden blade tipped right up like a tiny street ramp. To steady the pivot, I shoved an unshelled walnut with my sneaker until it wedged tight under the raised edge. With my custom deck locked in place, I kicked back against the ceramic curve, hands tucked deep in my camo hoodie to catch the morning rays.