“Mmm…hmmm,” she mumbled through a mouthful before swallowing, “Cold eggs are nasty.” Before her dad could get in another word she had taken her next bite.
Her dad sighed and went to take his omelet, which he then proceeded to eat only a little slower than Mirka was munching through hers.
Once she finished her omelet that was getting cold by the end, Mirka went to get a glass of water. The crisp, clear water was only heated enough to melt it, remaining just above freezing. While her mother went to eat her own omelet she started washing the dishes. Getting here was hard enough, and as long as she had been coming here — as long as she could remember, really — she’d been hearing people say that everyone in Antarctica worked.