It is a wonder of the world. Perhaps the planets are on a leash or have a disgusting report made, an adolescent who makes breakfast for you is just as rare as the red-headed flatfish, who lives in the deepest crevices of the ocean.
When he asks me how I want to have my egg alarm bells start ringing immediately.
Is it April 1st?
Has my salary been paid?
I try to process this amazing news as I hear the rumbling of pots and pans, followed by the smell of baked toast.
I am part of the suspicion. Normally I have to move heaven and earth or pray to all the Greek gods to let him take his shoes, and now he makes breakfast for me? There must be something behind this.
Mayonnaise with a little egg
Emotionally disoriented, I walk down the stairs to see this unique event. I enter a clean living room, without glasses with half-blue cola on the table and ... did he vacuum clean too?
I look around me again to check if I am in the right house. And there he is, in the kitchen, lascivious chef.
He proudly shows the egg he has just prepared for it with a lot of passion (and the use of three pans). There is a lot of herbs on what in the days of the VOC would be a real treasure, but that should not have a name.
He has also made an egg for himself, although I first thought it was a plate of mayonnaise with protein.
Desperately I pick up the plate and thank him for the content. I actually expected that I had to pay for this breakfast, but I received no questions about money, clothing, vouchers or a game computer.
Because I'm your favorite son, right?
Not a bad report, no questions about money, apparently I was allowed to receive a fried egg. Unique!
"But why do you get up so early to make breakfast for me?" I ask sincerely interested.
"Because I'm your favorite son, right?" is his counter-question.
I answer but in the affirmative, that is the answer he is looking for.
"Do you clean up that mess on the counter?"
"Do I have to do that ?"
* sigh *