She knelt down, picking one at random before flicking the note open with her thumb and eyeing the neat, vaguely dismissive scrawl.
I validate whatever you're feeling, even though it probably makes us both wrong.
And then on the back:
Eat your food.
Sheri squinted at the note, lips slightly parted in befuddlement. This explained absolutely nothing.
She lifted the cover off the platter to examine what was under it, the slip of paper still held between her thumb and forefinger. Latkes, kasha, eggs she could tell at a glance weren't anywhere near dry enough, buttered toast, and ham. Aside from the scrambled eggs and the ham it seemed… mostly edible. The cart clattered as she pushed it out of her way, tossing the note aside.
Sheri slouched a bit as she walked down the hall, latke hanging loosely out her mouth as she chewed one end of the potato pancake. The wheels of the cart whistled softly as she pulled it along behind her with one hand. She wasn't actually hungry anymore, and bringing it all the way back to the kitchen seemed like a pain in the ass, so she kept one eye on the lights above each handle, looking for one which would indicate a given room was occupied so she could foist her cargo off on the inhabitant. Green… green… green…
Ah, red.
She knocked lightly against the door with one knuckle. "Room service!" she called in a clipped, sing-song voice pitched up a couple octaves which made her grimace. She parked the cart to the left of the door frame, fully intent on making herself scarce before the door opened.