The Egg And The Button

Brian stood at the kitchen counter, trying his best to whisk a bowl of eggs. The clanking of stainless steel that rang out as he clumsily punched the bowl violated his ears, making him increasingly agitated. His left hand was not used to such dominant activity, but his right, unfortunately, was occupied with a matter much more important; his eye. He paused for a moment to shake off a cramp, and as he did so droplets of water fell into the bowl from a washcloth he held against his face.

“This is bullshit,” he muttered, squeezing excess water from the cloth into the sink next to him. He placed it back on his eye, picked up the bowl, and poured the eggs into a skillet. The shock of cold egg on hot pan filled the silence with a sizzle.

“How are these? They feel really good!”

Brian’s boyfriend Troy entered the kitchen wearing a very form-fitting pair of blue slacks. Troy, slim and athletic, walked and lunged around the room, smiling and stretching as if to prove to himself the pants were not too tight. Brian rolled his eyes and glanced at the pants.

“Well they fit,” Brian replied with an attitude. “You’re still fat, though.” He picked up a spatula and began to mix the eggs, urging them to cook quickly so he could finally sit down.

Troy stopped lunging. “Oh, come on! I said I’m sorry. Is it bad? Let me see.” He took the washcloth from Brian’s face and examined the eye. He winced at the sight. Brian’s eye was a red Troy had never seen before. This was bad; definitely worse than that time Brian stumbled upon Troy doing yoga in the living room and ended up taking a warrior pose to the face. Troy rinsed the washcloth with cold water and carefully placed it back over Brian’s eye. Then he took a seat at the kitchen table. Brian, trying his best to hold the cloth in place and still prepare breakfast, took two plates from the cupboard and doled a small portion of scrambled egg onto each.

Troy was seated in front of a pair of black slacks, similar to the blue ones he was now wearing, and a small brown button. With his index finger he pushed the button around the table as if he were playing checkers. Brian appeared to his side, plate in one hand, washcloth-on-eye in the other, and waited. Troy didn’t budge, which made Brian even more agitated. Brian focused in on Troy’s hand. The sound of the button sliding on the table only made Brian’s eye feel worse. He pushed Troy’s hand aside set the eggs on the table.

Troy picked up the button and chuckled. “You know I never knew that could actually happen,” he mused. “I’ve only seen pant buttons fly off like that in the movies. That was hilarious!” he said.

“You’re fat!” Brian reiterated. “And I’m never helping you get dressed again!”