I was looking forward to breakfast that day.
I didn’t want to go to the kitchen that morning, but something in me needed to be satisfied.
So I ordered something.
Nothing complicated.
Just a typical breakfast -eggs, pancakes, bacon, sausage.
Something warm.
The food arrived after a few minutes.
I sat down.
Opened the box and said,
“Oh, poor bacon.”
Took a bite.
And then—
nothing.
No relief.
No quiet.
No sense of there it is.
I wanted to give up like how the cook gave up on the bacon.
I took another bite anyway.
Because that’s what you do when you’ve already started.
Because maybe it just needs a moment to catch up.
But it didn’t.
The bacon, the sausage, the pancakes…
The more I ate, the more I got disappointed.
I left the food there.
Half-finished.
Half-effort, like how the food translated to me.
I was unimpressed.
It wasn’t worth finishing.
It wasn’t a waste.
I’ve learned that I shouldn’t settle anymore.
Especially with food.
Especially with things I put inside my body.
Even my son didn’t like it.
So we let it go.
And vowed never again.
--
Lady E
P. S.
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