Waffle Healing

I’ll admit that I had an avocado for breakfast and am currently drinking watered apple cider vinegar from a mason jar.  But the smoothie blogging is over.  For now.  Now it’s back to the real nitty gritty, the Big Stuff: Brunch, co-hosted brunch.

Basic background: Sacred brunch offering of the New York Jew = bagels, cream cheese, smoked fish, and traditional fixings of tomato, red onion, capers, lemon, pepper.  Please don’t put anything else on my bagel, and frankly please don’t serve me a bagel already assembled.  This is DIY territory.  ‘Nuff said.

Mike, more Colorado hippie than anything else, likes to serve quinoa-based salads and vegetarian Mexican food for brunch. 

“Babe,” I said, when we were discussing this weekend’s menu, “love of my life, apple of my eye, fire of my fireplace, I’d like to do brunch for brunch.”

“What does that mean?”

He asked.

“Bagels and lox,” I said.

“Oh, ok,” he said.

I could tell in that way that people who’ve been with each other for a long time can tell that, “Oh, ok” really meant, “Sheesh woman! I work hard all week long and just want to come home to a peaceful, plant-forward, fish-free environment but nooooo. You are a bad, bad, bad, bad, bad selfish wife and you’re ruining my life!”

So then I said, “Fine then, we can do whatever you want!”

And he said, “What the eff? I just said okay!”

“No you didn’t.  You don’t want fish all over the place and neither of us even eat bagels.”

“Uh,” he said.

“So let’s just have salad and Mexican Love Waffles,” I said.

“Great!” He said.

And so that’s what we’re having.  Sometimes I’m astonished at how good a wife I am.  I’m gonna keep going.

Thank you.