Anne was really in the mood for waffles last weekend, but for whever reason we didn’t get around to having them for breakfast. The dinner time discussion came around last night and she announced that she still wanted waffles.

At first I outright refused. Breakfast for dinner? I don’t even know what to call that. Brinner?

I quickly relented though when it was obvious that I was either eating waffles or fending for myself. Considering my adventures with fish sticks, I should probably take any prepared meal I can get.

She really seemed to enjoy making them though and spent a lot of time talking to the waffle iron, trying to coax it into making perfect waffles. I had two with some strawberry sauce and a side of bacon. It was weird, but I can’t say it tasted bad by any means.

Maybe this isn’t so bad. I never eat breakfast. Maybe tomorrow I’ll have a cheeseburger at 7 am and see how that goes. Or maybe not.