...how to start your day

My regular mornings start with me waking up to the tantalizing smell of food. That factor is usually an undisputed sign that the morning is destined to go well.

It also signifies that Pierre is cooking breakfast.

Although a glance at my watch revealed I still had fifteen minutes left before I had to get up, the smell of the pancakes energized my muscles. Soon I was stripping off my clothes as I ran into my shower.

. . .

Huge stacks of pancakes were stacked near my usual place at the dining table. My mouth began watering from the mere sight of them, but I made sure to keep my face expressionless as I sat on my seat.

The kitchen door creaked as it opened, revealing the portly man who stood behind it holding a bottle of syrup. The moment his eyes landed on me, a massive grin split his face in two.

"Ah Monsieur Angelo, morning!"

I nodded. "Morning, Pierre. How was your break?"

Waving his hands, Pierre rushed towards the table. "It waz fine, but all ze time I couldn't help but look forward to making your delicious meals again!"

A small smile found its way towards my lips. "And I couldn't wait to eat them. Trust me, Pierre, you don't want to know the horror I had to go through on the first morning you didn't come!"

Pierre tsked. "I zink I do, Monsieur! Zat one entered ze kitchen again!"

Sitting down in front of the food, I sighed. "Sadly, she did. You don't even want to know the...thing she created!"

"Oh do tell, I'll love to hear your thoughts about it!"

"Well, she left eggshells in it, so there's that. Let me not even mention the fact she added about a full bottle of alcohol to it-"

My words caught in my throat. Suddenly, the vast sea of trouble I'd been diving deeper into became apparent to me.

How did I realize that you might ask?

Well, for one thing, Pierre's voice isn't female.

Oh yeah, there are a few other things I should tell you about Pierre. Like, for starters, he isn't French (I wrote that in because I've always fantasized about having a French chef).

Anyways, you might as well just replace all the misspelled words I wrote in his dialogue with correct spelling because his French attributes go as far as his French name, which is because he was born in a French-speaking country (Togo, not France).

He doesn't have a mustache. In fact, his face is hairless, save the bushy dark hair that sits upon his head. His skin also isn't porcelain white, it's caramel brown.

The chair groaned as it was dragged back by Annie, who glared at me after sitting on it. "Why did you stop? Please, continue!"

"You do know I stopped out of consideration of your feelings, right?"

She laughed. "Oh don't mind them, just heartlessly go on!"

I shrugged. "Well, if you insist! My next complaint is that she didn't even bother to make them in batches-"

"Angelo Smith, not another word from you!"

I frowned. "I thought you wanted me to continue? I don't get you sometimes!"

"You and me both, sir."

Annie's head whipped around quickly, nearly undoing the bun that her hair was set in. "Pierre, please, kindly explain what you mean by that."

Her eyes spat fire as she said that. However, Pierre's eyes were like ice, matching her burning gaze as he hissed, "Oh, I will! I don't understand what spirit possessed you and forced you into my best apron while I was away!"

"Excuse me? Spirit?" Annie crossed her arms. "Pierre, what exactly are you trying to say?"

"Isn't it clear? I want you to admit to me what spirit entered you and dragged you into the kitchen. The quicker you tell me, the quicker I know which exorcist to call!"

"You know what, you're right! A spirit dragged me into the kitchen-"

"Well, that explains it."

I rose my hands up in surrender hastily when Annie directed her glare at me. "I'm sorry, this is between you and Pierre, please continue!"

She narrowed her eyes at me, then her gaze went back to Pierre. "As I was saying, a spirit dragged me into the kitchen; the spirit of love, something you clearly wouldn't understand seeing as your culinary skills is driven your greed! Unlike you, the spirit of love is what made me get up in the morning to make him breakfast. It's too bad that spirit appears one-sided though, seeing as he couldn't even bring himself to eat the delicious dish I prepared for him!" Her glare fixed on me again.. "Do you know how hard I worked on making it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, not hard enough?"

"No, it was-arghh!" Throwing back her chair back, she leaped up. "You know what, I give up! I hope you choke on his food!"

Pierre jeered, "Even then it'll be a much better alternative to consuming yours! Much less painful death! "

Annie paused in her tracks after flinging open the doors to the living room, opening her mouth. After a few more moments of silence, she settled with simply shooting Pierre a murderous look, then stormed out.

Barely a moment after she had, an uncomfortable feeling came over me, one that I'd been trying to avoid having for a long time. However, despite the obstacles I had placed in its path, the way Annie had exited the room gave it a shortcut to its target: me.

A shiver ran through my body, closely followed by a sigh. "Ann, wait."

I can't keep on feeling this way-

"Yes, Angelo?"

Another sigh escaped my lips, only that it was one of relief as I spotted her in the doorway. "Thank goodness you came back! I just wanted to let you know that I'd appreciate it if you closed the door, you forgot to do it on your way out."

"Well if you're sorry- wait, what?"

"I asked if you could close the door on your way out."

"Th-that's all you wanted to say?"

"What do you mean that's all I wanted to say? I'll have you know that the weather has become quite cold late-"

Slam!

I frowned for a while, then said, "Women! Who can ever understand them?"

He huffed. "Who knows, but I know one thing for sure: no one can ever understand her!"

Pouring syrup onto my pancake, I nodded. "True!"

. . .

I'd love to say that after that I enjoyed my breakfast in peace, but if I did I wouldn't be giving you an honest outlook on that morning.

See, after I had said that, Annie marched back into the room, then grabbed my plate and slammed it onto my forehead. Turned out she'd been eavesdropping behind the door, so she'd heard what Pierre and I had said.

(I don't see how that's my fault. After all, I didn't beg her to listen in!)

I began yelling at her, which resulted in her doing the same as well. Our shouting match got so intense that Max had to come to separate us and hurry me to the car! However, the remnants of my breakfast were still stuck on my face, so I rushed back into the house to clean myself.

And that, people, is how that morning went.