“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.

She beamed.

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.

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