Daily Prompt

via Daily Prompt: None

It was all I could think about. It filled my head, I couldn’t think of anything else, my every thought was filled with this one over powering thought. The thought to beat my husband home and eat, sorry, devour the one remaining hard-boiled egg and my time was nearly here, with my commute working like a dream, connections falling into place as if a magical force was somehow guiding me home,  I was home and dry, a race easily won . A race that was started this morning by my husband as he sent me the picture of the last, lonely egg. An egg somehow missed? the rest we had eaten  for a lazy Sunday brunch. With the eggs covered in mayonnaise and nothing else,eaten straight from the bowl. Our forks fighting over the last remnants of the eggie mayonnaise. No time for bread. This meal, if you could call it that? Was in our house at least, the ultimate comfort food and we each had our own special way of making it, each having a slightly different timing for the eggs. Whether we added salt, pepper but, none of that mattered now I was home . Should I send him a selfie? Me sitting with the egg, spoon in hand ready to crack the shell? Wait, what was that noise? It was coming from the kitchen. he couldn’t be home already he had meetings all day, he would be later than usual, he said so? What if it was a burglar?Would I defend my egg to the death? I walked into the kitchen as confidently as I could, bag ready to hit throw at any intruder, followed by a swift kick to the nuts. Then I saw it the fridge door still hanging open and my husband, with his back to me trying to force something down. I tapped him on the shoulder and he span round. Trying to conceal his smile as he did so. Sorry he said, meeting cancelled. And the egg?I said realizing that my little fantasy was over. None left was his reply

 

 

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