Breakfast at Tiffany's

Breakfast at Tiffany's


Tiffany set the table in her kitchen for breakfast.
She decided the cracked everyday crockery was a tad too everydayish for today.

She picked out Grandmother's Willow pattern tableware, 'the story dishes' as she called them as a child.

She cooked her husband of twenty years the whole shebang, a feast of a breakfast.
Normally he nibbled on a bowl of muesli.

Today, Tiffany whispered joyfully to herself, was not a day for muesli.

She waited at the cooker until Brian, her husband, arrived down, set for another day moving files and pushing pens at Bored and Boring Inc.

His shoulders were slumped and in the sunlight, she saw the start of a bald patch.
The weight of the negative pregnancy tests over twenty years had settled on his shoulders, buried their dead dreams in his eyes.

No matter, Tiffany thought, if Johnny Depp himself arrived today and offered himself on my Willow pattern serving platter, I'd have to say,
'No, thanks, Mr. Depp, my Brian is quite enough for me'.

She would offer him breakfast and ask him about his piercings, they had always fascinated her. She might take the opportunity to just look at him for a few minutes, gosh, a hardworking girl like Tiffany deserved a little eye-candy, mais non? Brian always had the task of frying the eggs.

Tiffany chuckled to herself awaiting the question.
Brian said 'How would you like your eggs today, Tiff?'

She paused and said:
'Fertilised, Brian, that's how I like my eggs'.

Brian looked wounded for a second, sensing a drama.

Tiffany put her finger to his mouth and passed him the positive pregnancy test.
'Blue line' she said, 'we have a blue line'.

Tiffany and Brian sat down and feasted on breakfast.

Brigid O'Connor

Posted over on her site Sort of Writing
Listed as #26 over on Magpie Tales 62