Spring, Judy had said to Robert right after having gotten up, was her favorite season. Robert had looked out of the window and kept silent. A morning walk would be nice, Judy had said, but Robert just shook his head. Too cold. Judy defiantly threw over her thin summer jacket and went off.
She came back about an hour later, her blue icy fingers clasped a bag with three regular rolls and two muesli rolls, which she put onto the sideboard in the hallway, just to immediately disappear into the bathroom and hold her hands under running warm water for several of minutes. At some point Robert had knocked on the door, Robert always knocked, Judy never knocked, Judy just didn't know this from home, neither did Robert, he had once said, therefore he would always knock now. Mhm, had Judy nodded and still never knocked.
Judy turned off the warm water, quickly opened her hand balm, pulled a Kleenex out of the box and said overly loud "Come in!". Robert opened the door silently, poked his head round the door and then, mumbling "Breakfast", silently closed the door again.
Robert knocked vigorously onto the shell of his boiled egg. Judy observed him, saw the spoon falling down onto the white shell, in which first cracks appeared, but it wasn't yet ready to split from the carefully wrapped core and release the still soft, exactly three minutes boiled content. Judy pressed her lips together, stared onto the boiled egg, that was destroyed every Sunday by Robert's spoon, always following the same pattern which Judy could have drawn by heart. Two blows in the middle, exactly on the top of the egg, one blow to the right side, not too low, but neither too high, finally one more blow to the left side, again right in the middle, before Robert - with his left hand, to be precise with his left index finger and thumb - grabbed the egg cup and turned it with its still covered but already largely damaged content exactly 90 degrees clockwise. Then the two final blows onto what had just been front and back, and finally Robert removed his left index finger and thumb from the egg cup again and led them carefully to the top of the egg, as if it could collapse like a soufflé if he moved to quick.
Judy tore herself away from the sight of Robert's breakfast egg, smeared vigorously the butter that was just too hard on her bread roll, Robert had - as usual - taken it out of the fridge too late, he didn't mind, for he always ate margarine, and now, with these hard slices of butter, she caused with vigor a greasy crater landscape on the upper half of the bread roll, in which she, her lips still pressed together and looking at Robert, dripped a spoonful acacia honey with cinnamon.
Second part of what I call #picstories -- a series of very short stories behind a picture/photo
#picstories, part 1: Patent leather shoes: https://steemit.com/story/@storytllng.rocks/patent-leather-shoes