Overheard In The Kitchen…
“…taking each egg, he cracks it decisively against the edge of the bowl, discarding the broken shell with a flick of the wrist… Pours just a little water in, and whisks a fork through it. Then it’s into the hot pan with the lot…”
He stops talking and looks up as the kitchen door opens. She walks in, a puzzled expression on her face.
“Who… Jim, were you talking to someone?”
“No… I was… talking to myself.”
“About?”
“I was…” Gets haughty, his stock reaction to feeling embarrassed, “…narrating what I was doing. For fun.”
“You were telling a story?”
“Yeah, if you like.”
“You were telling a story to yourself… about yourself?”
“Well, Jen, in a way aren’t we all telling ourselves a story about ourself, all the time?”
“About making dinner?”
He withers a little, breaking eye contact. She glances over at the gas hob.
“In this story you were telling yourself about how you were making dinner…”
“Mm?”
“…in this story, is that an omelette?”
“Yeah, why?” He says, staring blankly at her.
She looks meaningfully in the direction of the frying pan. He looks himself, as prompted.
“Ah, balls.” He says, hands scurrying to the spatula.
“S’okay,” She responds, “I like scrambled just fine. I’ll get some milk.”
