More Tales of Morning Eggs

This morning as I sat across the breakfast table from my husband, I groggily looked up to see a strange expression on his face. He was staring at me, mouth agape, for what felt like minutes. He kept contorting his neck and chest.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked.

He motioned toward his half-eaten fried egg on the plate, but gave no other response. He continued to gape and breathe like a fish out of water.

“What the heck is wrong with you?” I said again, beginning to get concerned.

Finally he squeaked out, “Too… big… of a …bite.”

I had to crack up. If you’ve seen this man eat pretty much anything, he insists on cutting the biggest bites that will fit in his mouth before cramming them in. I tell him he’s missing out on half the enjoyment of eating, but he says he likes the feeling of a really full mouth.

“Take a drink of water.” I told him. He shook his head, continuing to gape and stretch.

“Drink, you dodo!” I said, going back to my own bowl of cereal, resigning him to his own fate. He still refused.

Finally, out of options, he took a drink. And of course, had instant relief.

He paused with a relieved and somewhat sheepish smile, before proceeding to shove the entire rest of the egg into his mouth.

These are mornings at my house.

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