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It starts with a bowl of cornflakes.
We’re watching some forgettable show, and then the munchies hit.
I pad into the kitchen only to discover the heart shattering truth.
We’re out of ice cream.
Both of us are half dressed.
Neither of us are keen on leaving the apartment.
“We could order dessert,” I suggest. “Get something delivered?”
He’s rummaging through my pantry.
“Or,” he says, “we could have midnight breakfast!”
I raise an eyebrow.
“You've never had midnight breakfast?”
“Nope.”
He takes it upon himself to rectify this immediately.
Pouring two bowls, he adds a dash of milk to each, carrying them over to the coffee table.
I pass him a spoon.
His lips pucker in thought.
“You know, it's even better if you slice a banana over the top and sprinkle a pinch of sugar?”
“It is?”
I need proof.
When I return from the kitchen, a ripe banana is tucked into the waistband of my pajama pants.
I require both hands to unscrew the lid from the sugar jar.
Marco being Marco, he stretches the elastic to let the fruit slip further.
“Oh… clumsy me,” he sighs, reaching lower than necessary to retrieve it.
“Youknowthat's not it,” I smile.
“Same shape,” he winks.
Bowls empty minutes later, we crave more.
This time I hand him the banana directly.
Second serving finished, my belly is satisfied.
I sit on the arm of the couch with Marco nestled between my legs.
