Brigits_Flame Entry May 02 - Morning Glory
She’d told me about the Wakin’ Bacon that morning at breakfast.
“Wait,” I had said, “is it shaped like a pig?”
“It doesn’t have to be!” she said. “I’m not sure the original is. But you put the slice bacon in the slot the night before, and the next morning, the little lightbulb cooks it and you… you wake to the smell!”
“Mm,” I said noncommittally into my orange juice.
“Did you have any plans for tomorrow?” she asked, in an off-handed sort of way.
Suddenly, my primate brain engaged with my reptilian brain and sent an electric jolt of awareness and fear right into my limbic system. Jesus Christ. Her birthday.
“I’m determined to surprise you,” I said, carefully. Oh, my God. I had forgotten.
She smiled, kissed me on the cheek, and left for work. I immediately made reservations at a tapas bar for the next evening. And then.
I resolved to do her one better.
I will be a better husband, I said to myself, lugging timber into the workshop. I will not be a dead-weight on my wife. My severance package from the cabinetry firm included a good amount of discounted wood, and I set to work.
Sawing, hacking, measuring out the lives of my wife and me. Her birthday, my birthday, bacon, sex.
I would do her one better.
In the kitchen, as the glue set, as the stain dried, in between wirings, and as the parchment paper was laid, I mixed and molded, washed my hands time and time again to keep my two components clear of each other.
And the next morning, my missus and I awoke to a gentle zephyr of cinnamon sugar, wafting from a small box she hadn’t seen on my side of the bed.
I presented her with the alarm clock I’d made, pulled out the slot, and presented my wife with a perfect, rounded cinnamon roll. Morning glory.
Happy birthday.