I'm not much of a cook. Odds are, when I do find time for a meal at home, it's probably going to be a bowl of cereal. Which is usually fine, because there's not much point in cooking a big meal for one anyway. But you know, some days you just wake up with a serious hankering for the biggest, baddest, cheesiest omelette you can muster. So here I am, in my kitchen, head in the fridge, realizing that I don't actually have any eggs. In fact, pretty much all I'm seeing right now is a half empty six-pack of Heineken, an old crusty looking bottle of ketchup, and some pickle relish. Yummy.
So I throw on some pants and head to the grocery store down the street and before you can say "les oeufs au fromage" I'm back in my kitchen. Rachel Ray's chattering at me from the flat screen across the apartment – an episode I TiVo-ed months ago for just such an occasion. When all of a sudden I feel a shadow move overhead and come to a stop. I look up from the skillet and nearly drop it when I realize what's up there, staring down at me.
“What the f-”
It's Tuck. Tuck is in my fucking pool and he's making kissy faces through the one-way glass.
I finish up the eggs and toss on some oregano (thanks Rach) before plating up my masterpiece. And oh my gaaaaad it smells delicious. It's already halfway gone by the time I get upstairs. I kick the door open to the roof, and approach the edge of the pool with maybe a little more caution than usual. Tuck's already kicking to the surface and I can see the smart-ass grin plastered on his stupid face. His head breaks water and he shakes it back and forth like a happy dog.
“What the hell, man?” I step back from the spray of pool water, protectively clutching my breakfast.
He's grinning like an idiot. “Well, good morning to you too, mate!” He notices the plate and suddenly the stupid grin is replaced by a curious pout, “Oooo, whatchya got there?”
“Oh, no. Don't even try to fuck with my breakfast, dude. What the hell are you doing in my pool?”
He grabs the side and wrenches himself out of the water in one swift movement, swiveling around to sit on the ledge. “What, I thought you said your pool was open season? A free for all, I think you called it?”
I jam another mouthful of eggs and cheese in my face before replying, “Yeah for hot, sexy women. I don't remember inviting YOU.”
“No, no. I specifically recall you said... and I quote: 'Come one, come all, if you look bitchin', and no one need know that the bottom is my kitchen.' Your words.”
“Yeah. I... I did say that, bu-”
“Well, FDR. Let's be honest." He swings his legs out of the pool and steps towards me with that stupid grin back on his stupid face. "This is about as... bitching as it gets.” He indicates his equally stupid muscly body which is now dripping all over my shoes. He looks very pleased with himself.
“Yeah. What the fuck ever, man. You want some eggs? I'm stuffed.”
I shove the plate at him and head for the door.