Our flight didn’t leave until noon, but Mom woke me up at five thirty, turning on the light and shouting, “AMSTERDAM!”
She ran around all morning making sure we had international plug adapters
and quadruple-checking that we had the right number of oxygen tanks to get there and that they were all full, etc.,
while I just rolled out of bed, put on my Travel to Amsterdam Outfit
(jeans, a pink tank top, and a black cardigan in case the plane was cold).
The car was packed by six fifteen, whereupon Mom insisted that we eat breakfast with Dad,
although I had a moral opposition to eating before dawn on the grounds
that I was not a nineteenth-century Russian peasant fortifying myself for a day in the fields.
But anyway, I tried to stomach down some eggs while Mom and Dad enjoyed these homemade versions of Egg McMuffins they liked.
“Why are breakfast foods breakfast foods?” I asked them. “Like, why don’t we have curry for breakfast?”
“Hazel, eat.” “But why?” I asked. “I mean, seriously: How did scrambled eggs get stuck with breakfast exclusivity?
You can put bacon on a sandwich without anyone freaking out. But the moment your sandwich has an egg, boom, it’s a breakfast sandwich.”
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