Friday the 13th, baby.
Fuh-reaky Friday.
Windy Friday.
Rainy Friday.
True Confessions ~
I can’t cook a pancake to save the house and kids.
You know what I’m saying?
Something happens between the recipe and the batter, the batter and the pan, or the pan and the plate, or any aforementioned combo. Lumpy, runny. Runny, lumpy. Well-done on the outside. Half-cooked on the inside. And I’m a pretty decent cook.
Except for…
Pancakes
Jello
Rice Krispies Squares
Don’t ask, and I won’t tell.
So.
I took G-Man out for breakfast this morning. Just a chain breakfast diner that you see everywhere in Canadaland. They specialize in breakfast foods. He ordered the Man Breakfast Standard — eggs, sausage, breakfast potatoes, whole wheat toast. I ordered a short stack of blueberry pancakes with a side of turkey bacon. The pancakes were well-done on the outside and smushy on the inside… just like home. The turkey bacon was of the chopped and formed thigh meat variety.
I can’t even.
I had to Google turkey bacon images, because I have never ever, ever never seen that varietal-species-genre-whatever of turkey bacon ever. But there it was. Staring back at me in the Google images, along with the real turkey bacon. My turkey bacon life is forever scarred.
You know what I’m saying?
Add one hot tea, one hot coffee, 13% harmonized sales tax, and one tip, and we left $34 poorer. And the lion’s share of that was for one short stack of blueberry pancakes and four rashers of turkey bacon.
And it wasn’t even a Cora’s.
I wasn’t going to return my plate and ask for a redo. Not on Friday the 13th.
You know what I’m saying?
I walked into the house and quickly added bacon to the grocery app, confident in the knowledge that I’ve got those blueberry pancakes covered.
You know what I’m saying?
Who here eats turkey bacon? What’s been your turkey bacon experience?
Here be Friday the 13th.
You know what to do. Meet you in the bar in 3…2…1…
You know what I’m saying?
Yeah. I got 368 words of I Got Nuthin’.
Get your Fuh-reaky Friday on.
Elen
Elen Grey 