breakfast is actually very confusing.
4 / 30 / 2010Dad Bold: What do you guys want for breakfast?
Tim: Whatever. We’re not running, so anything’s fine.
Dad Bold: Eggs? Grits? Toast? Cereal? Waffles? Pancakes?….
Tim looks at me all, “You’re the picky one. What do YOU want?”
Me: I don’t care. I’ll eat some of whatever you make.
Tim: From my plate? I’m thinking no. What will you eat?
Me: Grits are fine.
Mom Bold: And eggs?
Me: Sure. And eggs.
Dad Bold: What kind of eggs?
Tim: Scrambled.
Me: Not scrambled?! With grits? It has to be sunny-side up. Duh.
Mom Bold: Agreed. Sunny-side up.
Dad Bold (to Tim): So you’ve got to be the difficult one, wanting scrambled eggs? Geez…what the hell?
Tim: I’ll make my own damn eggs.
Dad Bold: D (aka, Mom Bold), you’re job is to make the grits. So let’s get on it. Jess, want any coffee?
(Coffee is the one thing everyone knows I will never say no to, which in an Italian household, very important. Yes is always the correct answer when it comes to food)
Me: Yes. Coffee. Definitely.
Mom Bold starts going to the stove and then stops, mid-walk and whips around to Tim and I..
Mom Bold: Hey! Do you remember that time when…
Dad Bold: D. You’ve got a job to do, how about we do it? At this rate, we’re not going to have grits for another ten years.
Mom Bold: Ten years? That seems a little long….
Dad Bold: Dammit! I broke the egg!
Tim: Where are the measuring bowls?
Dad Bold: The hell? You LIVED HERE.
Tim: Yah. And? You’ve MOVED STUFF AROUND.
(Dad Bold delivers my mug of coffee, so I sit back and watch everyone do the cooking dance)
Finally, everyone sits at the table.
Mom Bold puts a plate of toast down, each piece loaded with butter.
Mom Bold: Dammit! I forgot you don’t like butter!
Me: It’s fine.
Mom Bold: I just keep forgetting. Someone who doesn’t like butter is lost to me.
Tim: It’s not that she doesn’t *like* butter…
Dad Bold: She’s afraid of it, we know.
(this is the running joke since my first time EVER visiting Tim’s parents. I’m a butter-phobe)
(Mom Bold gets up to make a plain piece of toast, breakfast commences for a few minutes until the toaster turns off)
Mom Bold: It’s barely even toasted! What the hell? I turned it up all the way!
Dad Bold: How far is all the way?
Mom Bold makes a motion with her hand like she’s wrenching a knob to it’s absolute maximum.
Mom Bold: “That kind of all the way.”
Why oh why do you hurt butters feelings so? This must change. Butter is the staff of life!
I want some pancakes. With butter.
You just made me hungry! Now I want waffles with syrup. Of course some butter must go on there too.
What did butter ever do to you?
I love these people! But what is a breakfast with no french toast?? And yeah, french toast is not french toast without butter.
I demand a post about butter, we need to get to the bottom of this. Like how we helped you with your teeth dream.
Amy: I can do that…talk about my butter fear…phobia…whatever it is…
Butter is innocent. Its just dreamy creamy salty sweet goodness that melts on whatever your eating and makes it 10 x’s better. I dont understand the hate goin on here. Esplain please.
Dear….everyone who thinks I’m crazy with my butter issues: More is coming. On Monday. Wait for it……..Oh! And join my group? We’re super friendly…and awesome.
http://www.facebook.com/group.php?gid=330367610087
At the risk of sounding unoriginal, this post made me totally hungry. And now I want some coffee. But when do I ever not want coffee?
Your family sounds fantastic! And I’m intrigued about the butter phobia!
Spring: coffee is like…well, let’s just say coffee = love… love bordering on stalkerish behavior
Cathy: I’m so assplaining my butter…issues. Tomorrow.