With Valentine’s Day just a week away I’ve been thinking about what to get my husband. We agreed not to buy each other expensive gifts but I want to get him something to go with his mushy card. My friend, D, suggested breakfast in bed. It sounded romantic and it was something I hadn’t done before, so we tossed around ideas. My husband is an egg connoisseur, so even though it’s his favorite Sunday meal, my eggs would not be good enough for him. I haven’t really made eggs before and to get them perfect would be an ill-fated attempt on such a special day. So, D recommended French toast. Also a good idea but I had a few problems with this suggestion. I have never made French toast and since I run first thing in the morning it would have to be something quick and easy. Don’t get me wrong, I love to cook, just not breakfast. For me running is more important than food in the morning. I explained this to D, and he had an answer for that too. He told me to make it ahead of time and freeze it, then on Sunday simply put it in the toaster. It made complete sense and I was running out of excuses. I guess D really wants my husband to have a good Valentine’s day. The ingredients include: two eggs, a teaspoon of sugar, a pinch of cinnamon, a splash of milk and of course good bread. I will throw all this together at some point in my busy schedule this week and freeze it on a cookie sheet so the bread doesn’t stick together. Once frozen, I transfer the French toast to a bag. Then on Sunday morning I jump out of bed, place a few pieces in the toaster, cover them in syrup and quietly take it upstairs on a tray with his coffee. Sounds promising, right?
More than likely the following scenario will probably happen. All four animals wake up with me. I feed the cats and dog, start the coffee and French toast, let the dog out back, burn the toast, try a few more pieces while getting the tray ready. I put everything on the tray and walk upstairs. While trying to balance the coffee and plate, one of my cats, Stormy, runs in front of me causing me to trip and fall. I tumble-down the stairs and scream waking up my husband who is now standing at the top of the stairs a little pissed off and confused. Perhaps I should settle for a nice lingerie outfit, soft music and some play time.