Birthdays

We watched the election results come in until far too late. I stayed up in the hope that Stephen would remember to say Happy birthday darling at midnight. Stephen stayed up in the hope of witnessing a change in government. We were both disappointed when we finally went to bed.

I dragged myself out of bed when the children got up at six thirty. We ate toast (all three of us), listened to the imminent post-election collapse of the world as we know it (me), and made a space station out of three empty boxes, a reel of Sellotape and a packet of dried spaghetti (Toby and Beatrice). Stephen came down at ten and expressed disappointment that we'd already had breakfast. He didn't say happy birthday. He asked for scrambled eggs. I scrambled eggs. Toby saw Daddy eating scrambled eggs. Toby wanted scrambled eggs. I scrambled more eggs. Beatrice saw Toby and Daddy eating scrambled eggs. Beatrice wanted scrambled eggs. I scrambled more eggs. Stephen asked whether I was going to have any scrambled eggs. No, I wasn't. I asked Stephen whether he intended to go to work, as it was half past ten.

Stephen asked me whether, as it was indeed half past ten, I intended to take Toby to school.

Why does he always, always win?