At the Bar
“How do you like your eggs?”
“Whoa. That’s your opener? You’re getting a little ahead of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I dunno. Seems like an innocuous question.”
“But I mean, it’s about breakfast.”
“Oho! So that’s where your mind goes when I ask about eggs.”
“Where should it go?”
“Well, there’s omelets, which could happen anytime, and Eggs Florentine and Benedict which are formal kinds of eggs.”
“You don’t seem like the Eggs Florentine type.”
“No?”
“I’d say you’re the bacon, hash browns type.”
“You mean, uh, over easy? “
“Your words, not mine.”
“So, how do you like your eggs?”
“Broken and fried hard.”
“Ouch. That doesn’t leave much room for negotiation.”
“Oh. We’re negotiating now? OK. How do you like your steak?”
“Rare.”
“No joy. Medium well for me.”
“Broccoli or cauliflower?”
“Broccoli.”
“Cauliflower.”
“This doesn’t look promising. Golf or tennis?”
“Bowling.”
“Bowling?”
“League bowling, with beer and buddies.”
“OK. As long as it’s on a week night.”
“Now who’s negotiating?”
“Just laying some ground rules.”
“I dunno. This may take another round.”
“But not tonight. I’m late.”
“Card?”
“Card.”
“Don’t you want mine, uh, Leah McDonagle?”
“Nope.“
“Pretty sure I’ll call?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Sarah Russell lives in State College, PA with a patient husband and a spoiled, spotted dog. She likes to write short stuff like poems and flash fiction, and occasionally gets published. To see some of her published poetry, visit www.SarahRussellPoetry.com
