English Muffin

She lay in bed, listening to the various street noises outside; a woman shouting after her kid, a car honking at something, an idling truck. The sun was high in the blue sky and she knew she needed to get up - get started. But she stayed in the warm nest, stretching out to touch the cool parts of the bed her body hadn't warmed in the night.

Her brain was starting up now - running over the list of things to be done: Groceries - oh, shit! I'm totally out of milk! Oh, and it's laundry day or I'm working naked this week. Still, she refused to get up. Once she put her feet on the floor, the day would start. There was no going back after that. These moments needed to be treasured, savoured like fine wine. So she sighed a deep sigh, wriggled in her sheets, and tried to think of breakfast.

French toast seemed like too much work, eggs and bacon too cliche for this morning. Cereal might be - ah, crap! - out of milk. Finally her mind settled. The perfect thing would be an English muffin, lightly toasted, with butter and raspberry jam. Mmm, she could taste the melty butter on her tongue.

The only problem lay in the fact that the kitchen was all the way over there, and she was so cozily warm over here.

The time had come. Her tummy rumble could no longer be ignored. She took a deep breath and threw back the covers. Cold air hit her in a rush and she gasped. "Screw it!" she said aloud. She grabbed the covers, rolled over and hid her head under the pillows .