It think it’s fair to assume that when Jesus chose to rise again on Easter Sunday, he at least waited until the sun had come up.
Not true, however, of my children this recent Easter Sunday.
You see the kids and I had invited ourselves around to Mistress M and The Sculptor’s house for a sleepover. It should be noted here that this was the third weekend in a row where I had found myself nestled deep in the warm bosom of another family’s hospitality. And yes, I’m starting to develop a serious fetish for having someone else’s husband making me toast and coffee on a Sunday morning.
In this particular case, however, I was careful to have started my campaign for ‘toast and coffee’ a few days in advance by telephone. I didn’t want another situation like we had on New Year’s Day where I found myself shouting “WHERE’S MY FUCKING TOAST?” outside the slumbering Sculptor’s bedroom door.
I needn’t have worried. Our children, by rising at five-fucking-thirty-AM, made sure that a) The Sculptor was out of bed and b) there was a pressing need for coffee. He set about making it immediately.
“Do you take sugar?” The Sculptor asked as he handed me my cup.
“No, I’m sweet enough!” I replied, brightly. Giving that answer never grows old. Never. In fact, it’s fair to say that I gave up sugar in my coffee just so I could give that answer Every. Single. Time. for the rest of my life and get a little jolt of pleasure from my own wit Every. Single. Time. It’s the little things, people.
“And the toast?” I reminded the Sculptor sweetly.
“Oh, do you want toast?” he replied, feigning surprise.
“OF COURSE I FUCKING WANT TOAST,” I said, before immediately changing tack and adding demurely: “But no, no, no… not now. It’s far too early for you to be making me toast… “
After all, everyone knows that you have to refuse at least once before forcing someone to bend entirely to your toast-eating will.
Apparently, the Sculptor is not “everybody”.
“Are you sure?” he said cheerfully in a way that made me realise he wasn’t actually asking a question. “In which case, I might go back to bed for a while.”
And with that, he practically said “Toodle doo!” and skipped back to his room, leaving me toastless and with the task of keeping five rabid children in the house until there was enough light for them to see the frickin’ eggs hidden in the garden.
Luckily, Mistress M got up to help me supervise the easter egg hunt and, while I tried to go back to bed myself for a while (turns out five children, high on chocolate, riding scooters in the wooden corridor outside your room makes for less than optimal sleeping conditions… who knew?), she got busy making toast – and not only toast, but crispy bacon and eggs to go with that toast.
God, I love that woman.
Anyway, the long and the short of it is that the children and I are now on the market for a sleepover next Saturday night for anyone who’s willing. I like my toast medium-rare (two slices: one with a ‘main course’ topping such as vegemite and one with a ‘dessert’ topping, such as raspberry jam) and I have my coffee white with no sugar because, well, I’m sweet enough.
See? It never gets old.
How did he skip back to bed without spilling his coffee? :-/
Also, happy to have you here – if you can convince the 10 year old that its ok for someone to sleep amongst the Lego star wars. Or better still, pack it up so we can get the sofa bed out.
And while you’re up making the toast, I’ll have poached eggs, grilled tomato and lemon pepper spinach on mine, thanks
The Sculptor is extremely nimble and light-of-foot.
Oh, and I suggest you print this page out with yours and my breakfast requirements highlighted and hand it to your husband so he’s fully briefed in advance of my arrival. Thanks.
You can stay at ours next weekend, but you will have to sleep in our tent. Which flooded at 2am yesterday morning causing much grief and wailing and gnashing of teeth. Also, finally, someone who understands the concept of first course and dessert in toast…. I have butter and bovril on one and then peanut butter and jam on the other!
Bovril on toast? Oh, I forget… you’re *English* (she says, with a significant raise of one eyebrow).
Jury’s out on whether peanut butter counts as a ‘main course’ or ‘dessert’ topping…
It’s so much easier to skip breakfast and then just have one meal that starts around 10:30 and ends when one goes to sleep.
Yep, a feedbag attached to my mouth at the front. And a sack of wine attached to my back… with a straw…
Tip: Stay at the Woog’s next weekend. You might need to ask twice for the toast but the coffee will be to die for. It will come from the best little Italian coffee house in town, be procured by someone else’s husband and delivered by someone else’s child (who then leaves and closes door).
I noticed this is an Australian phenomenon by the way and is one reason I am moving: http://www.wanderlustlust.com/2011/03/riddle-me-this.html
Happy to give you more addresses should you need them.
I see you and I share the same fetish. We could work the same circuit together…
As per Kristen’s comment – you will get coffee delivered. And you can stay but I do not think the health authorities will allow it due to estimated wine consumption. xx
We could always round the number of bottles of wine we’d drink down to the nearest hundred to get it approved?
You are such a good writer – congratulations on being a finalist. You tell funny stories and I feel like I am actually there.
Well, if you *were* there, I bet you could have gotten the Sculptor to make toast!
PS. Congratulations on being a finalist too! If people are reading this and wondering what we’re talking about, see http://www.sydneywriterscentre.com.au/bloggingcomp/enter.html#lifestyle
So funny.
need i say more….
xx
Not so funny at five-fucking-thirty-AM, but still. Thank you.
You’ll have to give my house a miss as there’s no jam here.
No jam? NO JAM?
Man. I’ll bring my own if toast with butter is provided. That’s butter and not margarine, mind.
I’d love to go and stay at someone else’s house for the night, but no-one will have us what with three children under five. Need to up the ante and go and stay at a hotel with an all-you-can-eat breakfast buffet. Except the coffee is shit and the toast is always cold. Hash browns and coco pops are my poison though, so I will be happy.
NDM, now that I’ve met you IRL, I’d be happy to make you toast and coffee, white no sugar of course, anytime you’re in my area. Oh wait, you don’t know where I live…….
I need to start sleeping over peoples’ houses on weekends. I had no idea that I could get someone else to make me toast. What a revelation.
You need to print sleep-shirts that say “OF COURSE I FUCKING WANT TOAST.”
I would buy one.
I make the best freaking coffee in the world. I would get up and make you coffee ( but please try to wait until at least 6 am), and shuffle back to bed. But I would leave you bread, a toaster, and enough toppings to blow your mind. Or Mr 10 would get up and make you an omelette or eggs on toast. When are you coming to Queensland?
“I’m starting to develop a serious fetish for having someone else’s husband making me toast and coffee on a Sunday morning.”
hahahahahaha!