I get downright horrible in the absence of breakfast. It doesn’t matter if I have pulled an all night writing marathon and stuffed my face with cold pizza and Doritos; if I don’t get my breakfast I turn into an absolute bear. My husband has been the recipient of many less than attractive moments as we’ve torn up the highway in search of something to fill my scowling face. It’s always his fault if we didn’t take up accommodation close to a coffee shop, his fault that I am angry and his fault of course that I just threatened to chew off his right ear.
I’ll scrummage through the glove box hoping for something to sate me. Then finding nothing lean over the back seat and start foraging for the left overs from last nights gas bar stop. My husband simply stares straight ahead, I can see his last nerve clicking at his jaw junction but I persist regardless. There is no question by this point that the potential for spouseacide ( it’s not a word but you understand) exists as his fingers more tightly grip the wheel.
I am an incredibly demanding person to survive life with.
The moment that the food arrives to my impatient soul, I morph. It’s rather incredible really. I stop spinning my head and the angel of love and light appears. I call it the “three eggs and toast exorcism”. My other half just stares at me with the most incredulous expression. As we exit the building that created this transformation, I will smile happily, wave goodbye to the food fairies and express what a beautiful day it is.
He follows behind burning holes into the back of my head. I know it.
We climb back into the SUV, I adjust my sunglasses and turn to grin at him. He responds with a simple suspicious glance and replies “Ok Sybil. If only those people that think you are so wonderful knew what I just witnessed”
I embrace the mornings that start in my own home. Where I can be in control of my own demon and fry my own eggs. It is not without it’s slight tension of course. Standing at the stove I call out to the other half that I am making some breakfast and would he like to join me. And every time without fail, he doesn’t hear me. I call it louder. He still doesn’t respond. By this point the danger of a flying fry pan is imminent as I draw a big breath and wrestle with the inner Linda Blair.
“Are you deaf or something!!??” inevitably hisses from my lips like a snake that suddenly attacks from the bushes. He turns, lowers his glasses and says…
“No I heard you the first time”
I break his second yolk as a means of revenge.
“Sorry about that one dear. It’s a bit rubbery”
If you see my spouse at an event and you speak with him, please know that he is biting through his tongue as you express to him how very lucky he is to be married to someone like me. If you pay close attention to his pursed up smile or his quick eye movement you will see that this morning he had breakfast with the truth.
Everything in life demands balance. Right?
What I love the most is that it is often something so simple that creates the shift from dark to light. Something as simple as three eggs and toast.
Stay real. Stay human.
In love…in light…three eggs over easy.