Nothing competes with breakfast as the greatest meal of the day (and I don’t trust the bisexual brunch, either). So much can be done just with seasoning alone, be it butter ‘n salt in bland grits, cinnamon and blueberries in pancakes, white gravy on white biscuits (yes, I consider gravy seasoning). Not to mention, so many different breakfast items can be combined in a ‘breakfast spread’ (grits, toast, muffins, fruit, juice, booze, pancakes, waffles, eggs, vegetables), that the possibilities are endless as to what a perfect breakfast constitutes.
I was recently confronted with a peek into my personality thanks to breakfast. Specifically having a fabulous breakfast spread - two muffins types, two fruit types, juice, coffee, eggs, grits - made by the wife of a buddy on whose couch I’d slept the night before. Over breakfast and my compliments, I was asked if I could be happily married to a woman who laid out that type of breakfast for me each morning.
My first thought was, of course, hell yeah. How in the world could a man who loves breakfast to the degree that I do (I don’t use the word “love” with my own father) ever grow complacent with a woman who would create such a spread as that. But after only a few beats I realized, no, I would eventually fall into the rut of expectations and under appreciating what I had. The relationship would show it’s first strains when I began to complain about the consistency of the eggs, or the inclusion of too many lumps in the grits and would reach it’s final demise when she found a collection of General Mills cereal box top points in the pocket of my favorite pair of pants.
