He also makes his own breakfast, and this morning even asked me if I wanted an egg. I said no, of course, for who can look at food the minute they get out of bed? Not me; he wakes up ravenous.
Recently he bought half a pig, so has been frying up bacon at breakfasttime, and I’ve asked him to fry up a couple slices for me at the same time because it’s a treat and I won’t bother doing it myself later, when I have a smoothie.
After he’s eaten this morning I’m at the table having coffee and he says “There’s bacon for you.” We reach the stove at the same time and as I reach for a piece, he takes and gobbles down the other, last one!
I said, “What the …? You are selfish and a glutton.”
He’s insulted. He’s already eaten his fill, yet had to take the last piece practically out of my mouth, and thinks that’s normal.
“I’m selfish?” he gasps, disbelieving.
“And a glutton,” says I lightly, and then add “Dad.” His dad once sat at our supper table when there was one glass of milk left in the carton, and said to the smallest child, “You can have water” and poured the milk into his own glass. I wasn’t impressed and neither was Beau, who unfortunately manifests a number of his father’s least impressive characteristics in spite of himself.
And that was that. Beau left the house without another word and I thought he was gone for the day. I wasn’t worried about any of it and didn’t think he was either, until he came back in and wasn’t speaking to me. I guess his feelings were hurt. Or maybe he was just ashamed of himself.
I did realize, upon sober second thought, that he’s no more selfish or gluttonous than anyone else, myself included. He just had a moment of weakness, where the built-in human trait of selfish gluttony got the best of him.