I really don't like eggs, no matter the culinary situation. Trust me on this one."Daddy, wake up!" exclaimed my three year old, clamoring breathlessly onto the bed. "Mommy made brek-fest for all of us. Lets go!"
"Uhhmmmm" I moaned, trying to use the pillow as a shield from the morning light. "What time is it?" Although the three year old doesn't have the ability to tell time he can at least read the numbers off the clock, thus allowing comatose parents to get the time without actually opening their eyes. What a useful and cool parent trick! It's like one of those talking alarm clocks, only I need to clothe, feed and play with it on a daily (hourly) basis.
"It's eight zero eight," he announced with three year old pride. Ahh, up at the crack of eight, meaning my wife sacrificed her sleep to get up with the kids first - either that or she got up to have a quiet house then the kids heard her and got up to destroy her moment of tranquility. Padding downstairs I was greeted by the smell of french toast and syrup wafting out of the kitchen. Mmmmm, liquid sugar and carbs baked in a crusty pastry of whipped eggs. Not liking syrup or eggs I realized I was on my own for breakfast this particular morning.
"Morning. I made you some french toast for you," I heard my wife say. At least I think it was her as my eyes were still half closed. French toast or no french toast - I just don't do mornings well.
"Mmm, thanks." I mumbled as I opened the fridge in search for a can of coke to get my day going.
"The kids like it, can you share a piece of yours?" she asked, reaching over to cut some up into standard issue cube sizes for a 1 year old. I looked over at the kids plate and saw a giant ocean of syrup with small pleasure craft of french toast bobbing along.
When I was three and was allowed that much syrup for breakfast, I liked anything served to me as a side garnish for it too. Liver? You bet! Chick Peas? No problem!Beets? Bring on Aunt Jemima, I can do it all!"Yeah sure. You know, if you leave it as one piece, then there is less to pickup when she throws it everywhere."
"Oh, good point," she said as she looked up at me just in time to catch me reaching into the fridge for something. "You're not going to eat it, are you?" Her tone instantly changed as she saw me standing there with a pear and knife - Homestead Security Advisory just jumped to Level 2 (Blue): Guarded. General risk of saying something stupid without knowing.
"Errr,...wellll" I start, quickly realizing the dead end situation I just got myself into (again). "I don't like the egg taste," I weakly protested, making the squishy face like the kids do when they don't like something. It gets them off some of the time so nothing to lose, or so I hoped.
"You should be polite and eat it." Homestead Security Advisory just jumped to Level 3 (Yellow): Elevated. Significant risk of saying something stupid with or without knowing. "Here try a piece," she coaxed, pushing over a cube (standard issue size of course) for me to eat.
"Thanks for breakfast, I really appreciate it, but I..." I started to say before getting cut off.
"You should be polite and eat what I made for us all. The kids like it." Another subtle tone change with "the" mothering look thrown in. Homestead Security Advisory just jumped to Level 4 (Orange): High. High risk of saying something stupid regardless of the situation. Now don't get me wrong - I like eggs, but just in the right context. For example, they are great in chocolate chip cookie dough, as well as made into meringue pie toppings. Also something to consider is that my better half is a great cook, but some things (eggs and brussel sprouts) just can't be made to taste good without copious amounts of ketchup or beer.
In a last ditch effort to both avoid hitting a Severe Homestead Security Advisory alert (Red level 5), and eating the french toast, I realized I had one verbal pitch left before I either imploded or was set free with my pear. With one final line I put it all on the table, "You realize that if I was eating with the Queen I would be polite and eat whatever is put in front of me." I continued on with an air of confidence, like a man who realizes he may not have to eat french toast that day and is rejoicing in the fact, "But I propose there has to be some leeway with your wife of eight years?"
Without skipping a beat she replied "No, I am the Queen. Now eat the french toast I made for you."
Damn! The Jester has been banished from the court. To top it off I think we're having brussel sprouts for dinner tomorrow...