About ten minutes pass when I hear the sound of the kettle whistling. The sounds of my wonderful husband making French pressed coffee. My foot sneaks out from beneath the comforters (yes, more than one ... I freeze at night). Brrr, it's warmer in the bed.
"Wake up, wake up ..." I hear as he comes back to check on me. It hasn't been thirty minutes yet. But the thought of fresh coffee. Oh, I'm so torn. Warm bed or coffee?
Suddenly I remembered that I bought a loaf of brioche from Sherman Market the day before. Sleepily, and with my head barely peeking out from beneath the covers, I tell him, "You can slice the brioche and put it in the toaster, then eat it with butter or jam." Funny how clearly I can give directions when it comes to food even though I'm half asleep.
I think, "He's going to wait for me to get up to make anything to eat, or he'll just eat cereal." Nice warm, comfy blankets.
Less then ten minutes later, a lovely smell wafts into the room. Mmmmm ... the smell of toasted brioche! I'm awake, I'm awake!
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1 comment:
Awesome. Nothing beats Sunday morning. (Except maybe Saturday morning???) Waking up late, knowing that a peaceful breakfast (cereal? pancakes?) and the Sunday paper await me... it's the little things that count. - Anonymous
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