I was beyond infuriated to receive news that a letter had arrived at home with specific instructions for me to complete stated tasks. I resented being made to do things that I couldn't reject or wiggle out of unless I quit my job, or drop dead. The man slouched in bed and watched in amusement as I was about to burst a vein jumping up and down like an angry troll.
I literally stomped outside to the pool and shrieked like a banshee for a good 10 minutes. I'm not sure if the other villas thought it was a new, experimental method of a wake-up call. (By the way, I can draw a very long breath and scream at a super painful volume for a sustained period.) If I were younger, I'd have flung a lamp across the room just to express how violently unhappy I was. When I finally strode back into the villa, the man mildly asked, "Are you done? I'm hungry. Can we go for breakfast now?"
I was going to yell 'NOOOOOO' and had every intention to continue cursing the world at large. But he looked like he was starving. So I took a deep breath and clenched my fists. I'd have to feed the man. I could be very eloquent in my anger, but I've learnt to feed the man when he's hungry. There wasn't a point to make him disagreeable. So I spat out, "Okay. Call the buggy to take us down."
At the restaurant, my favorite freshly squeezed orange juice and flat white done in my preferred way were both set on the table, waiting. Then, I selected macaroni with kidney beans, french toast and muesli. Staring out at the horizon on a sunny morning made me feel better instantly.
Breakfast had improved my mood considerably.