Breakfast Fight

My daughter, granddaughter and pet bunny are staying for the weekend. It's Easter weekend which is a strange thing for an atheist like me to be celebrating, but hey, whatever! Granddaughter loves searching for eggs and then binging herself into an altered state of consciousness on the vast amounts of chocolate and candy she subsequently consumes. The responsible adults among us try to make her food choices really count leading up to Easter Sunday when that damned Easter bunny litters the farm with small plastic eggs, which granddaughter tries to scoop up before the squirrels beat her to it. (Last year it was a fight to the death.)

So this morning I, lesbian Matriarch that I am, stand ready at the kitchen counter, ready to do everybody's breakfast bidding. Daughter tells me that she would like two eggs, over easy, on Buttermilk toast (both eggs and bread locally "made"). Granddaughter says she would like Scottish oatmeal with brown sugar and butter. Mr. Lesbian comes out of the bathroom and the following conversation ensues:

Me: Mr. Lesbian, dear....what would you like me to make you for breakfast?
Mr. L: What is everybody else having?
Me: Daughter and granddaughter are having different things, I haven't decided what I'd like for breakfast yet, and I'll make anything you want.
Mr. L: Yes, but what are they having?
Me: Tell me what YOU want and I'll tell you what they're having.
Mr. L: I guess we're at a stalemate.
Me: (smoke beginning to pour from ears) If you can't tell me what you'd like for breakfast, how on earth do you think you're ever going to be able to communicate to me what you want from this relationship?

Mr. Lesbian disappears into the bathroom. I wait.

S/he comes out of the bathroom.

Mr. L: May I have scrambled eggs?
Me: (Big sigh). Yes, of course. And thank you.

Yeah, I know the answer to this one (I'm a sex therapist, remember, and couples are my "thing") but, nonetheless...why does everything have to be so goddamn hard?