The fourth Saturday in September is Breakfast in Bed Day. It
sounds like a great day to celebrate. You have a lovely lie-in while someone else
putters quietly in the kitchen. Then that someone brings you something
delightful on a tray, like fluffy pancakes with real maple syrup, eggs
Benedict, sausage and biscuits, or a bowl of fresh melon chunks. Breakfast in
bed isn’t really a thing at my house. Mornings start early here, because that’s
when the cat decides they do. She begins by batting at my nose, first with
claws in and later with claws out. I hide under the covers, but she pulls them
off. I launch her off the bed, but she just comes back. So, I open her can of cat
food, then I make the pancakes/eggs/sausage/melon for everyone else. And no,
they don’t get their breakfast in bed, either. Because I’m also the one who
washes the sheets.
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