dangerous potatoes

I woke up this morning with an unstoppable craving for my mother's hashbrowns. So after I got Dutch's coffee on the stove I fell onto the four russetts languishing in the produce drawer. I had a moment's doubt, looking at the four big taters. Theoretically, they would make enough hashbrowns for four people with normal appetites. I figured we could freeze that we did not eat.
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I grated and microwaved tham and pushed them into crude patties on the griddle. And waited. Potatoes won't be rushed, unless you like them raw and crunchy. Finally, both sides were golden and crispy and I piled them high and proud in the tortilla warmer. And gray. My mom's were always gray, too. Its a vaguely disconcerting color. I always assumed factory made hashbrowns were white because of something they put on them to stop the oxidizing. Regardless of the color, when they were slathered with egg and ketchup they tasted as delightful as the best american diner fare. Soon the tortilla warmer was empty. I was horrified. Accusations started ricocheting across the kitchen.
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"I only ate two, that means you had to have eaten, like, eight."
"I only ate one more than you did..."
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We picked up the breakfast mess and by an unspoken agreement, we found ourselves back in bed. Sleeping. We woke up from time to time to groggily discuss possible plans, but before we could finish, one would have slipped back into obllivion. It was like being high without the euphoria. Or a hangover sans headache.
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Potato abusers beware! The innocent potato, in its innocuous brown jacket hides a soul that, given the chance, would send you across the river and leave you there...
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Good night and good nap.