‘How do you want your eggs?’ the waitress asked.
It was our weekly routine. She asked, and I didn’t know what to say.
‘Scrambled, soft scrambled, over easy, sunny-side up, over medium, over hard poached,’ she listed all the variations in rapid speed –as always.
I had eaten a mountain of scrambled eggs, just because I felt too nervous to order anything else.
Today I felt rebellious; I was tired of scrambled eggs.
‘I want to see the sun shining please,’ I said with as much confidence as I could come up with.
‘Finally,’ she said with a grin.
(Word Count: 101)
I remember my first attempt to order fried eggs like it was yesterday. Learning a new language is not that complicated, using it, on the other hand, that’s a totally different ball game.
The Friday Fictioneers are held by Rochelle Wisoff-Field.
Happy Holidays to all of you!