Dinner Mimicry (Otherwise Untitled)
#83 of Short Stories
A fennec prepares dinner, slowly coming to terms with her own skill level. Her husband does not mind.
~ The fennec bounced up and down along the kitchen counters, from step stool to floor to stool. Another pair of toast slices onto the plate and fresh bread replacing. Whaah-chunk, more on the way. Her attentions were scattered amongst the formation of breakfast, the microwave oven chiming the completion of another bowl of instant oatmeal.
~ "Oh! I should switch that to the next one..", setting the oatmeal down next to the accumulating toast. "Lessie, half a cup water... two minutes...", the microwave cheerily toned and thrummed deeply of exertion to assist.
~ "Only a few more minutes, Hon!", she called over to the gryphon she could hear stepping out of the now silent shower. She bounded over to the stove, carefully sliding her spatula between pancake and skillet. The spatula left a neatly clean lack of pancake, approximately two inches wide, across the middle of the skillet. "...grah." She carefully repeated this process, squeegeeing the remainder of the pancake out of the skillet to be neatly accumulated on the plate of other pancake shards. "..this just.. keeps happening.", she groused to herself.
~ "Hon, my featherpuff tower of hunk, remind me of something?", she inquired hopefully.
~ The gryphon, stepping between bathroom and bedroom with only a towel, paused to lean and peer into the kitchen. "Yes?", his feathers a matted flatness of a very clean rat recently drowned.
~ The fennec, her focus on ladling over another glomp of batter, "You didn't marry me for my cooking, right?"
~ Letting out a deep belt of laughter, "Oh, my delicate one, I am not that much a fool. I look forward to our breakfast together, however it is prepared.", ducking into the room to select and don his clothes for the day.