There is an art to preparing breakfast for one’s significant other. Over the years, thousands of brave men and women have endured unbearable hardship and worked for unimaginable hours for the sole purpose of providing their spouse with a tasty yet well balanced meal. The first step of course was having the skill required to stealthily get up and out of bed without waking out the object of affection sleeping peacefully next to you. This first hurdle is also one of the most challenging. Naturally, you can’t rely on your body’s internal clock. Your partner is in all likelihood well used to the time when you will wake up in the morning, so you must take measures to force your body and mind into consciousness earlier than you are accustomed to. Don’t even think of relying on the alarm clock, the loud noise will wake your partner up as well, and that will kill the fruits of your labor in an instant. There are three ways to get past this critical hurdle. If you have excellent willpower, you could just force yourself awake an hour early. This is much harder than you might think, and should only be attempted by those who have done something like that before. If your partner is a heavy sleeper, and if you don’t tend to move around too much when you sleep, consider using a beeper, if you are wealthy enough to afford one. The sound is less than that of any radio alarm clock you can find, and the sound will be somewhat muffled by your body weight. The third option is to simply pull an all nighter. It carries a critical risk of you falling asleep and ruining your entire plan, but if pulled off with the right amount of determination will assure you of victory.
Sam, now Sam was a warrior. It was four thirty in the morning, and he was fast awake next to his wide asleep wife. The amber eyed man mindset was soundly perfect, and nothing was really on with him. Sam only had an hour to go before he made his wife hams and egg, so naturally his mind was in top tip condition. The time slowly moved by, and finally after what seemed like an hour, his radio alarm clock displayed five thirty. The amber eyed man silently crawled out of bed and headed out of his bedroom and to the kitchen. He and his wife lived in a ranch style house, so the eternal enemy of tired people, stairs, was mercifully not present. It was a stumbling , bumbling, and even slightly tumbling walk down a thin purple hallway with wooden floors, but Sam pulled through and made it into his kitchen. The second trial you must complete in order to make an excellent romantic breakfast is to obtain the proper ingredients.
Sam had done just that the evening before, as you must do if you want even the slightest chance at success. Sam was a man ahead of his time; despite not being particularly wealthy he had a blender. Sam’s blender, much like his pager, was kept in tip top condition. He put some bananas and milk into the blender, and pressed the low power button. At the same time, he deftly maneuvered his right hand and inserted two pieces of bread in his toaster oven. For the oven, he hit the medium setting. Finally, he poured some coffee from the pot into a pink mug with little green ducks on the handle. Two minutes later, the blended concoction was done. He poured half of the blender’s content in a medium sized glass, and the rest into a Tupperware container that he stored in the fridge. He took a butter knife from the silverware draw, and with a precision rivaling that of Billy the Kid spread peach jam on the golden brown slices of white bread. The final challenge you must prove your mettle in when you take up the crucible of breakfast is in the presentation . If you have any artistic merit, you could consider arranging the food by color.
Sam was no painter however (there were worse things in the world) , so he opted to bring his wife breakfast in bed, a move as old as the Roman Empire and ten times as noble. Sam carefully placed the toast, coffee, and smoothie on a rectangular wooden tray and with the pace of a ninja walked back into the bed room. He placed the meal on his red haired wife’s chest.
With a yawn, the sleeping figure sat up. “Suh..ahm?”
“Nah, I’m the breakfast fairy. A nice little fella with a knack for preparing food. Decided you shouldn’t have to get up too early today.”
Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
Sam’s wife smiled. “Well, Mr. Breakfast Fairy, I suggest you do something about your face, it’s the ugliest damn thing I’ve ever had to lay my eyes on.”
The fairy in question bowed right by the edge of the queen sized bed. “Gee ma’am, I guess that’s why you married some handsome, smart, and kind gentleman and not a silly little fairy like me. Now eat up, for the next six months you can just forget about that two thousand five hundred daily calorie limit.”
The red haired lady took a sip of the smoothie and frowned. “Uh, not trying to undermine your sweet romantic gesture or anything, but how much did you pay for that silly thing?”
A pink tint spread on Sam’s cheeks. “Hell, I didn’t pay too much. Y’know my pop runs a hardware store, so I got “this silly thing” from him for fifteen bucks.”
“From the taste of this smoothie, I’d reckon that your pop got the better end of the deal”
Sam opened his mouth to protest, but was couldn’t make out a word. His wife had crawled over to kiss him. After a few intimate seconds, Sam parted lips with his spouse.
“Aw, you’re so sweet. You remind me of this one play I saw the other month...”
“Don’t even start talking about those plays of yers. Ya know that stuff goes right over my head.”
“Hun, you really need to become more cultured. When are ya gonna finish that book on Anton I lent you?”
“I’m thinking never.”, Sam replied.
“Sometime before I become old and wrinkly will be nice.", his wife offered. " It’s only about a hundred and twenty thousand words anyways.”
“That’s about one hundred and nineteen thousand too many for me. Well, I gotta go to work. Y’all stay safe now.”
The woman besides him giggled, then put her hand over her mouth. “The three of us will be just fine, give em hell hun.”
With that command, Sam jogged back down the hall, stopping at the bathroom. He had about half an hour before he had to leave for work. In the mirror, he noticed that the stubble on his chin was getting a bit too unruly. He took out a razor and trimmed his hairy chin a bit. Sam was a very tall man, standing at six feet and six inches. His broad shoulders suggested that he could have easily been a linebacker back in highschool. He threw some mouthwash in his gullet, gargled, and spit. After splashing some water on his face, he threw on his work uniform lying messily around the bathroom and headed out the door of his apartment. The elevator on the fifth floor was out of order, so Sam sprinted down the concrete stairs as fast as his tall legs could manage. Finally, he made it to the bus stop outside of his apartment building. The six o clock bus ride was a crowded yet silent ride. Charlotte is filled with many white collar commuters, as it is a gigantic hub for investment banking, public banking, private banking, and it wouldn’t be unwise to bank on it being a hub for other forms of banking as well.
Now Sam, he wasn’t heading to a bank for his nine to five job. Sam wasn’t too skilled at math, and he wasn’t amazing at talking to people either. No, Sam had a bit more of a humble job than the well-dressed Bensen graduates he saw go into the tall skyscrapers to work every day. He was an “Executive Manager” at a “Digital Media Distribution Outlet”, which was a very nice way of saying “Cashier at a rental store.” Sam did not resent his job, far from it. Sam loved film. He loved well written comedy movies and how they could make tragic situations entertaining. He adored horror movies and the thrill they would give him. He had a soft spot for romance movies, especially teenaged themed ones, as they reminded him of how he met his wife. As for mysteries, well, they weren’t his thing. Way too cheesy and easy enough to figure out if you paid close enough attention to what was going on in em. Still, Sam was a cinephile and though his pitches to television networks and Hollywood studies hadn’t been successful yet he was perfectly content to chat and rent movies to his fellow enthusiasts.
The bus went downtown into Charlotte, and stopped at the somewhat dinky store where Sam worked. Sam walked off the bus, thanked the driver, and headed inside. It was nice and sunny today, a beautiful October morning. The temperature wasn’t terribly bad either, a warm seventy five degrees. No humidity either, so Sam’s white shirt remained pristine and uncorrupted by any amount of sweat. Sam pushed open the sliding wooden door and headed inside. The owner of Monster Video Rentals greeted him. He was an old jovial man, demanding in what he expected from his workers(or more accurately, worker) but fair, and was every bit as much of a movie fan as Sam was.
“Ah, look at who is here nice and early. You trying to get a raise?”
Sam scratched the back of his neck. “Well, now that you mention it…”