The French Toast Connection

  The French Toast Connection  

     So, when we first got married, Michelle couldn't cook.  As a bachelor, I had survived on oatmeal, eggs, sandwiches, spaghetti, salad and canned soup and that was good enough for me. Michelle's cooking skills were on par with mine, except my eggs, sandwiches, spaghetti and salads were better. Michelle, however, wanted to improve her cooking skills so, every couple of months, she would try a new recipe on us. Sometimes it was good, sometimes it was okay, sometimes it didn't turn out so well.

     One morning, when Logan was about three years old and Conner was about six, Michelle decided to give french toast a go for the first time. I like french toast, but the boys had never had it.  Michelle called us, saying breakfast was about ready.  We all sat down in our usual places.  Michelle next to me and the boys across from us.  Michelle put a slice of french toast on each of our plates.  They smelled really good.  We each took a bite, pretty much simultaneously, and sat back to chew.

     I took one chew and my eyes shot wide open.  I stopped chewing.  In fact, I froze in place. It was the most disgusting, mushy texture I had ever had in my mouth. I didn't know what to do.  I didn't want to hurt my wife's feelings, by running to the sink, spitting it out, and shoving my mouth under the kitchen faucet, but I also didn't want to chew any more of that horrible thing and release anymore of its horrid taste into my mouth.  So there I sat, my jaws spread as far apart as possible, while keeping my lips sealed and balancing the portion of, "french toast", that was in my mouth, on as small a part of my tongue as possible.  That way, it wouldn't contaminate the rest of my mouth.  I glanced over at the boys to see what their reactions were.

     Conner was sitting ramrod straight, with his eyes wide open.  I could see his lower jaw distended too, and his lips slightly parted.  He wasn't chewing either.  I saw him looking in fear at his mother and then he shot a panicked glance at me, I could see the pleading question in his eyes,
"I don't want to get yelled at! What am I supposed to do?"

     I quickly looked at Logan, the most uninhibited member of our family, to see his reaction. Logan had just taken his first chew.  He stopped and the happy, innocent smile on his face was replaced by a blank expression.  He leaned forward, his jaws opened wide, and he let the slightly chewed bite of, "french toast", slowly slide out of his mouth and plop back onto his plate, as we all looked on. Normally, I would have scolded him for that, but I couldn't open my mouth, because it was filled with saliva and a slowly dissolving mess of, "french toast".  Logan then picked up his napkin, wiped his tongue off, and put his napkin down.  Then he reached for his sippy cup, drank his milk down and matter-of-factly advised us all, with a cheery, innocent smile,
"Oh, I forgot!  I already ATE breakfast."

     Conner and I stared in frustration at each other, each silently saying to the other,
"DAMN!  Why didn't I think of that?"
I was silently debating with myself, whether it would be worth a try to say,
"Yeah, I forgot, I ate breakfast too!", before Conner thought of it, OR should I let Conner try it first and see if he got yelled at, but then if he got away with it, how likely would it be that the same excuse would fly a third time?  My silent struggle was ended when Michelle said,
"These are terrible, you guys don't have to eat them. We'll have cereal."

     We were all relieved, especially Logan, who palm slapped himself on the forehead and said,
"Oh wait a minute!  That was YESTERDAY that I had breakfast.  I'll have Cocoa Puffs, please."

     Michelle later told me that instead of dipping the slices of bread in the egg batter, she had soaked them.  Lesson learned.