The kettle was whistling to notify anyone interested that it had completed its task. The water had boiled. "Mom! The water is boiling! What should I do?" The eight-year-old kid was shouting from the kitchen while she was putting on her lipstick. The cry left her indifferent. After all, this happened every day and, according to her clock, at about the same time. Her husband was tightening his tie. The room was filled with his cologne. "We're late again!" he said, combing his hair, which, despite being forty years old, was jet black. Hers, however, had not been so lucky. The hairdresser regularly corrected nature's haste. The treacherous white hairs of her thirty-five years disappeared in the pleasant environment. In the kitchen, she prepared the little one's milk, which she drank in one breath as every morning. The sandwich was in its place. The school bus honked. Another identical day was beginning. Wearing her customary smile, she waved at the school bus as it drove away.
At home, a cup of coffee steamed in the same spot as always. She frowned at the granite. Normally, if it had any decency, it should have had a dent, since every morning a cup rested on the same spot. She lit a cigarette and inhaled the smoke blissfully. Nothing could compare to this, the first cigarette of the day. She took a sip of coffee, and her palate gladly recognized its taste... So sometimes habit is not a bad thing... "What's wrong?" The simple question thundered in her brain. She had forgotten she was not alone. "What did you say?" "I asked you what's wrong!" "Headache... Why do you ask?" "You seem distracted today." "I didn't sleep well last night." "Why?" "What do you mean 'why'? Why don't people sleep well?" "Because... they ate heavily last night!" Her smile was ironic, but he didn't notice. It wasn't the first time either...