Elsbeth is adept at peeling a pair of hot soft-boiled eggs without getting yellow yolk all over her hands like I do. She just rolls the hot five-minute eggs around on the counter, then casually peels them without wincing .

Then she presents the two perfect cackleberries along with my toasted muffin and hot coffee all at the same time. But she only does this on Sundays. The other days I have to fend for myself.

I have no luck in duplicating her big feat. I have tried it and end up taking a table knife and upschlogging (a German word) which cleaves the egg in two parts and always leaves small particles of shell in the dish. Ugh.

She does not hear me condemning these eggs out loud because she is still getting beautiful. When she does appear she looks like a diminutive Marlene Deitrich, glowing with pleasure as she pours herself a cup of my delicious coffee and asks if I wish another cup. She glances around, notes all the dishes have been rinsed and the kitchen is tidied up. Well, somewhat.

This routine has been going on ever since she got her new knee. And not once has she left me a tip.

Until this week.

She always stores my cereal in a big transparent plastic jar which she keeps on a high shelf. It is my daily chore to reach up and get the cereal.

This week as I opened it , the lid came off too fast and the cereal rained down on the kitchen floor. There had to be a million little doughnuts scattered over the kitchen like a beige throw rug.

As the saying goes, you can eat off her kitchen floor, so I bent over (no easy task), scraped them all up and put them back in the jar before she came down .

Then I fllled a bowl, added blueberries and a half a banana and ate them.

I thought I got all of them , but when she walked in she instantly spotted one tiny oatnut on the tile floor and said, "I see you spilled the cereal jar on the floor. Did you throw them all out?"

I was caught, like a cereal killer so I confessed.

"Okay , copper, you got me. I ate them."

I expected her to insist on calling 911. But she didn't.

She just gave me a withering glance and said "You are always asking for a tip. Here's a tip for you. Du bist a boeser bub."

Then she poured herself a cup of coffee and casually watched to see if I crumpled up on the floor clutching my belly in agony.

Jerry did not get a belly ache, but still has scortch marks from Elsbeth's glance. He can be reached at wseditor@robinsonnews.com