Man, this bed kind of stinks.

Did I change the blankets?

I don’t think so.

Augh, I don’t want to get up.

Yesterday, a lot of stuff went down.

So, in order. First, we opened the bakery – and I still have not found a name for it – and it was a huge success; there were no real problems, and we made a boatload of money. Second, Lucinda came, and we shared a special moment, alright. Like, what the hell was that even? I’m honestly doubting it even happened. I don’t want to get up and discover that I was high on some rotten yeast fumes. Third, Stan is a secret master, as I had foreseen.

Hmmm.

Well, the Stan thing doesn’t really bother me. He’s probably a [Druid] or something, considering the massive dog and the roses. Well, good for him, good for him.

Now, the bakery doing well is okay—

Yawn.

Man, I’m really tired.

Anyway, the bakery doing okay is good. I wasn’t expecting much, but it’s also true that I had no idea what to expect.

Lucinda…

Oof.

I don’t even know. What am I supposed to say? How do I convey the goddamn hurricane messing up my guts? Wait, did I eat the croissants yesterday? Only one, I think. Yeah, so the hurricane in my guts is definitely because of Lucinda. Or, at least, most likely.

I would kill for a cup of coffee.

Not that it would be too good for my guts, obviously.

Should I take a day off? Or a short holiday?

I mean, people would probably get extremely curious about the one-hit-wonder bakery that just disappeared the day after its grand opening. But maybe that would help create some hype.

Whatever.

I lay my head on the pillow again and fall asleep.

…

“JOEY!” someone screams in my ear.

“WOAH!” I almost get a heart attack.

After repeatedly blinking in every direction as I stand up from the bed, I realize Camilla is laughing her ass off, bent over, almost reaching the floor with her face.

“Dude, not cool! Not cool! And what about privacy! I could have had a girl here, for all you knew!” I say while I pull the smelly blanket up to cover my graces.

“A girl? Or maybe a Lucinda? Stan told me everything. And what are you covering yourself for? You are fully clothed!”

“A bedroom is an intimate place! I’m entitled to being shy here! And what did Stan say?! Aren’t hidden masters supposed to be secretive? What’s this with this city and everyone gossiping about everything?”

“Come on, get up. I brought some breakfast. You still have to show me the first recipe. I can’t wait.”

Urgh.

Right.

“Ok, ok,” I say while yawning.

The pink-blonde-haired Elf keeps staring and smiling at me with expectant eyes. She even giggles a bit while I get up.

“What?” I ask grumpily.

“So, did you and Lucinda eat the leaf?”

I stare blankly at the woman, having no idea what she means.

“We… what?”

“Eat the leaf? Jump over the tree? No?”

“I have no idea what you are talking about,” I say with a raised eyebrow.

I mean, I can guess. Sure. But I don’t want to assume, just in case I have been thinking dirty without reason.

“Did you two have sex?”

Well, it wasn’t without reason, then.

“Nope. And even if we did, a gentleman doesn’t kiss and tell.”

“You kissed, and that’s it?”

I yawn again with teary eyes and give her a stare, alright.

So, not only are Elves meat-eaters and open to homosexuality, but they are also sexually liberated.

“Can we have breakfast before you talk my ears off, pretty please?”

“Sure,” Camilla says with a pout.

…

I’m eating some cheese cupcakes stuffed with meat. Well, I have never been a fan of my countrymen's breakfast choices, and this is no different.

Breakfast is something you shouldn’t enjoy.

I remember this quote from Sun-Tzu that goes something like ‘Eat breakfast by yourself, share lunch with a friend and give your dinner to your worst enemy.’

Now, I’d reverse it.

Breakfast is something you get while tired, grumpy, and not looking good. Who in the nine-hells wakes up and thinks, ‘well, let me doll up to have this massive bowl of cereal,’ huh?

Breakfast is one cup of black coffee. Or three.

That’s it.

If you smoke, you can add a cigarette to it. But that’s as far as it goes for side dishes.

Breakfast is to be consumed in shame, in the most disgusting part of the day.

The morning.

If you are a morning person, you should probably seclude yourself with your devilish kin of early-risers go-getters.

I, myself, want breakfast to be in silence and around no one. That’s how breakfast is supposed to be. With your shoulders hunched and your chin low, oppressed by life. You can liberate yourself by lunch. That’s a meal.

My mom always says that lunch is the most important part of the day. See, having Italian parents, we would have a two-hour long lunch whenever we didn’t eat at a restaurant. Lunch is to be enjoyed, consumed slowly with your family while chatting, arguing, and watching the news.

The news part is just to have more topics to talk about.

I remember infinite comings and goings of family members in our apartment that would never leave us alone. I’m not even sure I actually ever had lunch with only my parents. Both my uncles lived down the corridor, and they always came for lunch. Always.

Weird Italian stuff, I don’t know.

Whenever I told my friends in school about this tradition of ours, everyone looked at me funny. They did not understand it. And they said they would be immensely annoyed if their family would constantly pop up at their house. And that’s because they valued their privacy, or so they said.

As a young Italian American, I have no notion of privacy. I have found out that people can actually close the door to their rooms without having their parents shout right after. Hell, my father once found out that I was alone in my room reading with the door locked – yes, I had found the keys in an old box – and he took out the door. He literally took it off the hinges and threw it away.

For all my family had never been a perfect suburban-dream-smiling-picture example of healthy living, we got around just fine. You learn how to hang around people, how to do small talk with weird guys – my uncles – and how to care about those people.

Even though I do not share every value of my family, I’m still grateful that I never felt alone in my past life. For most of it, at least.

That’s why while I stare at Camilla talking my ears off, I’m not really angry.

I don’t really like a silent breakfast – it makes me sad. I just like to complain about people from time to time.