To be sure, she has a weekday regimen of fresh bananas, yogurt and
Puffins (a decently healthy cereal that has the namesake animal on the
front). But, on the weekends, all bets are off. We have chocolate chip
pancakes, Belgian waffles, sausage, bacon and all manner of fruit. And
that is only if we are eating in.If we go out for breakfast, we are prepared to eat enormous omelets
prepared with brie or biscuits and gravy that could put any athlete
in a coma. If things go according to plan, we will be fighting off a
nap at about 10:00 am. If things go badly and the food isn’t quite
right, we can expect a vow to never do it quite like we have this
time. While I love my wife for her insistence on a good breakfast, I
have often questioned her zeal for perfect food. I am of the opinion
that we could pretty much have Denny’s every day and be okay (other
than being severely obese, I suppose).
Lately though, I have started to come around to her way of thinking.
Her standards aren’t really about breakfast or about food. They are
about whether or not it is worth it to waste her time and calories on
such sub-par fare. She isn’t willing to allow the mediocre to dictate
her day. But, I let it happen all of the time.
I let a coffee and a lack of conversation to start me off. I let a
long commute without communication be the impetus for my day. She is
vigilant in making sure that the waffle isn’t soggy and the potatoes
are as good as they can get before she commits to that as a day
starter. I let a granola bar suffice.
And sometimes it shows.
I want to feast on talking with my children.
I want to imbibe the sounds of my wife’s laughter.
I want to lick my lips after thinking out loud with my friends.
Breakfast matters. It is too important to be an afterthought.