We'll have breakfast in bed.

On a wooden tray with a ribbed bottom, there will be a blue plate and a big ceramic mug. The eggs will be scrambled and delicious, dry enough to stand their ground but with the sunshine leaking from their edges.

The coffee will be strong and hot, with the stream fogging up your spectacles. Hands will be wrapped around the big mug because it's just the right thing to do. The aftertaste will linger, like that of a stolen kiss in the rain.

The toast, in an open cane basket lined with napkins, will smell of the Sunday mornings of my childhood. The buttery residue on fingertips will stay a lot longer than health magazines deem fit.

After breakfast is done, we'll solve crosswords from the newspaper. Then, we'll go back to sleep.