You come home from work. You’re tired, you didn’t get much sleep last night because of all those videos of domesticated otters you couldn’t stop watching. That thing you’ve been working on at work took a lot longer to complete today than you expected. You sit on your couch and take a long sigh. The question awaits you, as it always does. It’s inescapable. You turn to your significant other, but before you can open your mouth, the words hit you in the face from the opposite side. “What do you want for dinner?” Dread. For a moment, you actually kind of hate yourself. You had all day to think about this question that you knew you’d inevitably have to address. Literally all goddamn day, Colby. Yet with every unoccupied moment your brain had, you instinctively turned to your phone, and tapped the refresh icon on Chorus.fm. ”These video games aren’t gonna talk about themselves!”, you think. You bite the inside of your cheek, and with a heightened pitch in your voice, you respond. “Hmmm... I don’t know! What about you?” “Ummm. I don’t know either”, you hear back. “We’ve eaten out twice this week already though. At this rate, we’ll never get to travel to that place we’ve previously discussed traveling to. You know the one. Such a great place. So travel to-able. Except not if we keep eating out. Let me see what we have in the pantry.” Footsteps. Audible thinking. “Ummmmm... tacos?”, you hear from the kitchen. “That’s easy and we’d have leftovers.” You can feel the heartburn already. And it’s not even Tuesday. Hard pass. “Put that on the maybe list, muchacho.” You softly chuckle to yourself. Muchacho. Why are you like this? “Anything else?” An unenthused voice from the kitchen rings back, “we have bread.. we could just make sandwiches. I dunno.” You had a long day, do you really want to end it with a boring, thin little sandwich? That cheese is probably expired anyway, you don’t even remember buying it. You respond, “I think tacos are winning so far. Thanks for checking out the situation, let’s just go with option A and call it a day.” “Yeah, let’s do that. Pantry’s looking pretty light anyway. Oh wait, what’s... oh, nevermind. Just waffle mix.” Instantly, you taste maple syrup, phantom notes of cinnamon tickling your nostrils. “Hang on. Did you say waffle mix?” You get up from the couch and quickly move into the kitchen, to see your s/o with the box in hand. Both of your eyebrows raise, so high that you actually think they might leap from your face. You pull open the refrigerator door and begin scanning. ”Bacon...”, you think. ”Check. Nice, we have some eggs left over.... those will scramble quickly. Because in this scenario, my life, that is my preference. Oh, shit, I think we have some hash browns left in the freezer, even!”. You can hear the sizzle already. Golden brown perfection. When that top layer crisps together enough to break it apart with your fork — man, that shit just hits different. You turn around. Your s/o is standing by the stove already, waffle iron in hand. You look at each other like you’ve never been so in love. Unprompted, you exclaim in unison, “Breakfast for dinner!!!!”, but you take it one step further — adding a passionate “motherfucker” to the end. “Colby, come on. You better hope the kids didn’t hear that.” Your child enters the room. “What’s that?” “A waffle iron,” you shoot back excitedly, sparing no concern for why your child seems to have suddenly forgotten what a waffle iron looks like. He looks you dead in the eye and says “Nay, Colby. What is that taped to the bottom of the waffle iron?” Your s/o flips the iron, and discovers a one million dollar bill taped to the bottom of it, with a note attached. They read it aloud: “Congratulations. You are the winner. You have won. Now you can travel to that place. Hell, maybe even two places. And it’s all because of breakfast for dinner.” Without hesitation, “Motherfucker”, your child adds. You look down. You’re not even angry. “Yeah, that’s right my child. Breakfast for dinner, motherfucker.”
Hahaha. I haven’t had it in a while actually, need to change that soon. And I have no son! This hypothetical was made just 4 u. My dog would be pretty hyped on breakfast for dinner though