"Top of the morning to you, sir!" Smithers exclaimed jubilantly as he brought a large mug of steaming coffee to my desk the next day.

I took a long sip and then looked up at Smithers, unsmiling. "You sound awfully gay this morning, Smithers."

"Quite the opposite actually," Smithers said, but then hurriedly added, "I mean, quite on the dot actually. Heh."

I stared at him with confusion, but quickly moved on. "So, I'm assuming you and that woman…?"

A flush of apple tones painted Smithers' usually yellow face rosy. He chuckled nervously. "Well, I'd rather not kiss and tell, sir. Um…here's your morning paper, and I'll be right back with your breakfast."

Smithers cheerfully bounced out of my office and left me to gulp my coffee alone with my thoughts. What in blinking blue blazes is your deal, man? So, Waylon found a new romance. Good for him. Maybe you should do the same instead of obsessing over his. I sighed. Why was I obsessing? I shook my head and tried to drown my thoughts out with the disturbing stories in the morning paper, but even news of murder and corruption didn't bring a smile to my face.

Smithers came in a few moments later with my favorite breakfast: a solitary pillow of shredded wheat, two pieces of steamed toast, and one Dodo egg. I began eating it without giving thanks to Smithers or the Lord or anyone else that made it possible for me to almost shield my pain with food.

"So, Mr. Burns, did you end up being okay last night? I could barely sleep knowing you were alone and afraid in that mansion."

I scoffed. "I was fine, I tell you!" Then I mumbled, "Besides, it probably wasn't me keeping you from getting your sleep, now, was it?"

There was definitely edge in my voice, and Smithers discerned it. He looked at me curiously and asked, "Is something wrong, Mr. Burns? You're acting kind of…"

"What?" I demanded angrily.

"Uh…never mind. Is there anything else you need this morning?"

I stared at my paper. "No. Just leave me alone."

"But, sir…"

"Do as I say, you imp!" I shouted, tossing a pen at my friend. He caught it, looked down sadly, and left. I sighed and tried to do the Junior Jumble in the paper. "Smithers?" I called shortly afterward.

He returned instantaneously. "Yes, sir?"

"Tonight you will bring your new lady friend over to my manor for dinner."

Surprised, Smithers hesitated and said, "Well, okay, Mr. Burns. What time would you like us there?"

"Well, you'll be preparing the dinner, of course," I noted. "So, what do we say…4:30?"

Smithers averted his eyes and chortled uneasily. "Well, sir, most people eat dinner later in the night, like at 7."

I gasped. "7? Why, I'd be in bed by then! I don't believe you."

"Well, sir, you could ask anyone and they'd say…"

"What about that fellow right there?" I pointed on the surveillance camera to a rotund, oafish man eating a box of donuts at his station. "Who is that?"

"That's Homer Simpson, sir. One of your lethargic boors from Sector 7-G."

"Simpson, eh? Ask him when 'normal' people eat dinner!"

Smithers called Simpsons' station and asked, "Homer Simpson? Mr. Burns wants to know the normal time that you and your family eat dinner."

"Dinner? Ah…dinner…" Simpson sighed. On the camera, we saw him drooling.

I shook my head in frustration. "Oh, forget it. We'll dine at 7."