The bass heavy sound of belching is one regularly heard in my house. When I think of it, nails on a chalk board comes to mind. I hate it. My husband is generally the source. He prefers his water carbonated, so we drink a lot of seltzer water. Hence the belching.
“Eggs?” he asked me one morning. This meant I would make eggs while he made bacon.
“Yup.” I answered.
We each got to work, methodically making our respective parts of the breakfast. I have to admit, we have this down to a comfortable science. The toast popped up just as I was scooping eggs onto our plates. The bacon was already sitting on the table, covered with a grease stained paper towel.
The silence became annoyingly apparent to me as we sat down to eat. I hate it.
“The bacon came out good…” I said, attempting to start a conversation.
“Hmm,” he responded.
No luck on my part. His introverted tendencies were in full swing.
“Buaaaaach!” he belched, mouth wide open, head tilted slightly to one side. He loved every second of it.
My forked eggs hovered inches from my mouth as my stomach turned. I squished my face at him.
“What?” he asked.
“I shouldn’t have to hear things like that while I am eating. It’s gross!” I complained.
“Millions of starving children should have food to eat,” he replied.
I looked down at my half eaten breakfast. I wasn’t hungry, but I ate it anyway.