“Can I help?” she asked, sidling up to me in the kitchen at Miskiania.
“That’s okay, I’ve got it,” I replied. I was making breakfast for twelve people and I wanted to just bang it out myself.
“Please?” she asked again, looking at me pleadingly.
“Okay, grab the whisk,” I said.
In that moment I realized before long she may stop asking if she can help, especially if I have a habit of brushing her off when she does.
Someday in the not too distant future I may be begging her to spend some time with me, side by side in the kitchen.
Before long I began to suspect that her altruism was largely motivated by proximity to bacon, but I savored the moment just the same.