Camp Dorothy is the place to be after a rocky start yesterday. Late Thursday morning, Mom and I thought we had the world by the tail after the doctor’s office completed her appointment and blood draw in record, painless time. We hopped in the car and headed to Ames for lunch.

Mom wanted to go to a restaurant that serves breakfast because a) she hadn’t eaten breakfast because the doc wanted a fasting blood draw, and b) she always wants to eat breakfast when we go out. Mom was practically salivating when we entered the Ames establishment, which shall remain nameless, at noon. We were seated quickly, and things went downhill from there.

• When the waitress brought our coffee, she brought only one cup and a pot full of decaf for me. Nothing for Mom because, the waitress explained, they’d just started a new pot of regular. It would be done in a jiffy.
• Then she said a different waitress was taking over our table.
• Five minutes later, when the new waitress came to take our order, she didn’t bring Mom’s coffee. Mom looked as pathetic as possible while I explained how hungry AND THIRSTY my frail, elderly mother was. Our histronics made little impression on the waitress.
• Five minutes later, Mom finally got coffee.
• Five minutes after that, our orders came, and we dug in.
• One minute later, I realized the cheese hadn’t been left off my salad as requested.
• One minute after that, the waitress took my food back to the kitchen.
• Ten minutes later, my new salad arrived just as Mom finished her meal.
• While Mom watched me eat, she decided the strawberry-rhubarb piekin pictured on the table display looked mighty tasty, so she flagged down the waitress and ordered one for each of us.
• Five minutes later, the strawberry-rhubarb piekins made us forget all about the rocky start to Camp Dororthy. While we ate them, we decided to go to breakfast at The Dutch Oven Bakery in Boone on Friday morning.

Because the camp director decided breakfast is the obvious theme for for this session of Camp Dorothy. To paraphrase what my then three-year-old son said to his daddy the first time they walked to the bottom of a roadside ditch to pee, “Camp Dorothy is gonna be fun!”