The 9 A.M. wake up call was no surprise.
“Laziness is the tool of the weak,” would be what mother would say as to the reason that I couldn’t sleep in during summer vacation.
She’d go on about some nonsense that you can’t live life to the fullest if you are asleep. My counter argument – not stated – was that being forced to live life to the fullest was hardly living. It was work.
I traipsed through a bowl of steel cut oats seasoned only with a teaspoon of butter and a teaspoon of brown sugar (clearly my choice).
“Come on Simon, stop pushing your food around, the lawn isn’t going to cut itself,” said my mother on cue.
“Do they actually cut these oats with steel?” was my reply.
“Simon. I’m sure you could find this out yourself instead of asking me every time we eat this for breakfast.”
I knew the answer. I just wanted to know if she’d ever bothered to find out for me.
Finishing the bland porridge and clearing, and soaking, my bowl was ingrained in me. Get it? In-grain. Because oat is a grain? I slay me.