Monday, November 3, 2014

The Kitchen Dance

Way back in the last century it was my habit to make breakfast for my husband. It was usually a well thought out affair. Bacon, eggs, waffles, pancakes, sausages, homemade ketchup on the scrambled and strawberry jam for the toast. Okay, that wasn’t all in one meal, but these are the things he loved and so I made them.

Then. . .

One day he fessed up that it was all too much. It gave him bloat to eat such a big breakfast in the morning, frequently causing embarrassing sausage scented explosions in the work place. So I could let that go if I really wanted to.  Hat in hand, so to speak, and puppy dog eyes, he waited for my reaction. On the outside I was gentle and smiled. On the inside there was the Mt. Vesuvius of joy. Yay, yay! A chore had just been eliminated from my always growing list. Bring out the streamers and shoot off the canon – freedom loomed. But I was cool and allowed that, perhaps, he could just see to himself in the wee hours.

But . . .

Another situation arose. You see, I like to eat breakfast, too.  So here’s how that goes. Whoever gets to the kitchen first makes the coffee. He fusses with his orange juice and pill box on the counter and I do-si-do around him to grab a spoon from the drawer. In the pantry doorway we do a fair impression of the Twist as we reach for our favorite cereals and then it’s a waltz back to the counter, each claiming a chunk of it for the prep. I like yogurt in the morning but if he’s heading for the milk I’ll allemande left to grab the fridge door just before he closes it. Then there’s a duck and bob to share the sugar and a two step back to avoid the cat. Before too long the end is in sight. Bowls out, banana cut up, coffee cups filled, we curtsy and promenade to our recliners in front of the a.m. news. Another kitchen dance morning has ended  . . . unless we both head back for second cups of Joe at the same time. 

Whew, it’s enough to make me long for the good old days of waffles, bacon and jam. Well, not quite, but there are days I could do without the Kitchen Dance. Or maybe the first 100 calories of the day are burned off this way. Hmmmm.

I wonder if I could teach the Kitchen Dance to the cat.

Image: Free Digital photos 


  1. This is much like our tightly-choreographed Sunday Morning Dance. The fact that I've not ended up with the corner of a counter top in my kidney or my backside in the granite tub is grace, and that alone. 'Cause that tiny town 'ain't big enough for the both of us.' :D

    1. Oh, Rhonda. How you make me laugh! Thanks for stopping by.