And another Monday releases me from its molassesey clutches. After a jam-packed weekend comprised of very little jam and quite a lot of activity, I’m quite content to sit here in my comfy chair listening to Wes prepare French Toast for dinner.
Hey now. Stop clutching your pearls and collapsing onto settees, there’s no cause for judgement here. Loosen your corset and get with the times: breakfast for dinner is in, yo. Let me put this in terms you might understand: Get thee to an IHOP and sample thee of the delights of the traditional fast breaking menu in the hour wherein thou might hear the croaking of the spring peepers. Therein thou might understand the rapture of breakfast for dinner.
We don’t generally hold to eating breakfast for dinner. Sure breakfast is my favorite meal of the day, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s suspiciously lacking in things like vitamins, vegetables, and healthy stuff. As a rule, we save breakfast for Saturday mornings and eat boring old dinners for dinner.
Tonight is a special exception because we are in possession of French Toast bread leftover from brunch yesterday. We’re going to pretend it’s healthy by claiming that the eggs in the batter are “brain food.” I see very little risk of malnutrition from eating breakfast for dinner one night, but if my stomach gets distended and flies start landing in my eye goop I’ll be the first to swear off breakfast for dinner.
Completely off-topic aside: Is it sad that when they mentioned petechial hemorrhaging on NCIS, Wes and I both knew what that was and what it meant before the kindly-yet-rushed doctor got around to explaining it?