When's Breakfast?

Still too early to rise, 4:30 catches my eye anyway and wakens me. I stumble to the bathroom and return to bed, thankful for a couple more hours to sleep. My husband, however, leans over and says: "Are you hungry?"

No, I reply, to this unexpected use of his vocal cords at this perfect moment for relishing sleep. Then I settle in again. But wait, I have to ask: Are you?

"A little." Pause again. "Want to go to Elmer's?"

With patience, though partly wondering if he is merely talking in his sleep again, I say: No, I want to keep sleeping.

"Oh. But we could have hash browns and eggs!"

Seriously? But what I say is: Why are you awake?

"If I could answer that . . . ."

A little more silence and I think, Surely he's ready to stop joking around. I start to drift into my happy place.

"OK, " he says, breaking into my fog. "We can stay home—" long pause— "and make hash browns and eggs!"

I laugh, but not too much because I don't want him to think I'm awake and there's a chance he can convince me to go out for breakfast.

It's sleeping time, I say. It's a work day.

"But we have hours before work. We could go to Elmer's, have some hash browns and eggs, then go to work from there. . . ."

I'm just going to roll out of bed and go to a restaurant?

"But you're awake!"

No, I'm not. It's still night time.

"OK, I'll let you go back to sleep."

Then

"I guess no hash browns and eggs this morning."

________

Later, after precious little more sleep, the music comes on and I inwardly groan—can't stay in bed any longer.

So, do you want some hash browns and eggs for breakfast? I ask my husband, who hasn't stirred.

"It's too late now," he says, and rolls over under the blankets.