"Self-Serve" on Terrace Drive apparently only means making your own cocktails. There is no attempt to make one's own breakfast (even oatmeal) or a sandwich. None. Those items, inexplicably, must be offered up, prepared, and served with a smile to GpaK.
After a glorious six-week hiatus from Gpak while he was in Virginia, I established a new set of weekend "norms." No longer would I wait on him for breakfast and lunch. He agreed that he did not need to be waited on.
Fast forward to our first morning on Terrace Drive. I am out running a stupidly long training route, Bill sleeps in, and GpaK waits. And waits. I come home, make toast, Bill has just made himself some eggs, and GpaK waits. And waits. I assume he's already eaten (he gets up around 6am and it's now after 8). Nope. "Where's the bread?!" he asks angrily. I told him it was in the fridge, and asked him what he needed "Well I'd like to have breakfast!" (It's now 9am). I told him to help himself and left the kitchen.
Later, reminded of our earlier conversation, he tells me that he cannot possibly stand comfortably as long as it would take to scramble eggs (which he just did). "What about oatmeal? That doesn't take long," I said. "Well oatmeal is too high in carbs" he replied. "So explain to me why carbs in the pizza you ordered last night were ok, but carbs in self-serve oatmeal are not."
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