Laughter in the Everyday

The scent of freshly baked bread, a humble aroma Jon had once found utterly unremarkable, now tickled his nose with the promise of simple delight. He’d always been a man in pursuit of the grand, the legendary, the Giggle Gem that would, he’d optimistically believed, magically transform him into a social butterfly. Now, standing in his own kitchen, the morning sun slanting through the window, he felt a peculiar sort of contentment that no mythical jewel could ever replicate.

He’d been attempting to make toast. This, for Jon, was an adventure. He’d managed to get the toaster to hum to life, a minor miracle in itself, and was now hovering, a little too close, waiting for the golden slices to pop. A faint smell of burning, quickly followed by a distinct *thwack*, announced that one side of the toast had achieved a shade of black previously only seen in charcoal drawings. Jon sighed, a soft, unburdened sound. He’d been aiming for ‘lightly toasted,’ a nuanced shade he’d read about in a magazine. Instead, he’d achieved ‘charcoal briquette.’

He scraped the offending blackness into the bin, a small act of culinary defeat that, a few weeks ago, would have sent him into a spiral of self-pity. Now, he just chuckled. It was absurd. He, Jon, the man who’d once managed to set off the fire alarm by making instant noodles, was still struggling with basic breakfast preparation. He looked at the remaining slightly-too-pale slice of bread. He’d call it ‘avant-garde.’