Since a couple of respiratory issues have had me in their grip, my sweet husband decided to pamper me this morning. “Don’t get up,” he said, “I’ll fix breakfast after I walk the dog.” I rolled over and savoured the extra time with my pillow. Soon they were back and I could hear the familiar sounds…..dog kibble clanking into the metal bowl, coffee beans being ground with a whir, and silverware tinkling as it came out of the drawer. I wrapped my fuzzy robe around me and strolled in to find my seat at the table. “Mmmmm,” I said, “smoothies.” Strawberries and yogurt and a little honey, unbeatable recipe…but soon I was picking pieces of plastic out of my mouth. “Dear,” I asked as gently as possible,”did part of the packaging find its way into the blender?” “Oh, no,” he replied confidently, “that’s honeycomb. I plopped the comb in when I poured in the honey.” “Oh, right,” I replied, deciding that a sip of coffee might wash it down. I lifted the coffee mug to find big black chunks floating in the liquid. “Oh, about the coffee,” he said watching me, “the basket didn’t close all the way so there are a few grinds in the drink.” “No problem,” I replied meaning it. In spite of it all, I felt pampered and well cared for….but I think I’ll feel well enough tomorrow to fix breakfast.
