World Has Imperfect Things My mother occasionally enjoyed cooking breakfast foods for dinner when I was a young child. And after a long, arduous day at work, I specifically recall one night when she made breakfast. My mother set a plate of biscuits that were horribly burned, sausage and eggs in front of my father that evening so long ago. I can still picture me waiting to see if anyone noticed! In contrast, all my dad did was ask me how my day at school was while reaching for his biscuit and grinning at my mother. I don't recall what