Sunday Saga

Seven A.M., feet on the floor, pajamas in-car for a favorite drive-through fast-food treat? No, it's the coffeepot, and turn on the broiler, less of a spoiler, but kudos in Heaven. Breakfast's in the works, she'll reserve the perks, (pardon the pun,) for when Mass is over. For now, the egg fries, but the 'frigo' door spies no cheese for the muffin, What? no fatted calf? and even worse, no Half and Half. It brings back the chorus in "How to Succeed in Business," the lament of the scent of No Coffee, NO COFFEE! But memory reminds of a Champs Elysees' Ave., where an American institution gave restitution to exiles like her in an elevator ride under upscale retail, its costly fashions to Golden Arches beneath Paris town, destination a Mickey D's you can't imagine: rows of televisions ornamenting each wall, an Egg McMuffin perk in easy reach, and a coffee bar, its center station a Gallic invention for the hurried intentions of blase' Parisians on their way to work. .