Mort? O_o

The tiếp theo morning, at around eight, Skipper woke with a yawn and kicked the covers to the opposite side of the couch. As he sat up, he worked the crick out of his neck and cracked his back. According to the silent apartment, no one had woken up yet, so he decided he’d make himself useful.

An giờ later, Judy dragged herself into the phòng bếp, nhà bếp with a yawn, her kẹo cane-printed pajamas wrinkled and her dark brown hair tousled about her head.

“Hey, what are bạn doing?” she asked rubbing her eyes.

Skipper poured scrambled eggs onto a plate and started turning the sausages. “Well, I figured...

    Okay…So how do I do this? I know nothing about breaking through a shell. I hear voices on the other side, concerned voices. I guess I was supposed to hatch three days ago. Well what do they expect? It’s not like I make a living out of breaking through shells. It’s not like these things come with instruction manuals, not that I could read it anyway. I tried pushing at the sides with my tiny flippers…Nothing. How do other hatchlings do this? I’m getting kind of lonesome in here. I'm a little hungry too. Whoa! Whoa! What’s happening?

    “Come...