My Wager Breakfast

I slice into the white of my over-easy eggs. Wait. "Where's the camera?" I ask M. He hands it over. "What now?" his look says. I want a picture of my won-the-wager breakfast.

I bet M that the name of the South African rugby captain is John Smit, not John Smith. M held fast that it was John Smith. I bet that if I was right, I could choose any breakfast I wanted when we stopped at Denny's on our drive to Cannon Beach (we usually go for cost effective options - just so you know). M lay down his side of the bet - I agreed.

Wager on, I googled 'John Smit South African rugby captain' and scored - breakfast! Still working on humility and competitiveness, I gloated to M that I recognised my last name by marriage better than he did his by birth, and now any breakfast was mine.

The way to my heart is through my stomach. I like food and I like to eat. I anticipated the breakfast with glee and now it is here. I snap the picture for prosperity: to remember the cherry tomatoes, red pepper, mushrooms, zucchini, fresh spinach, breakfast sausage and roasted potatoes, crowned with melted cheese and two over-easy eggs.

I savour my breakfast, pleased I won the bet. But come to think of it, if M had won the bet, I would've enjoyed that too.