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Love it? Hate it? Indifferent?

I tend to be the that last category. I like breakfast, but I hardly ever eat it. I just don’t see the point. On days when I work, I get up too early (debatable, I know) to fix breakfast before I head to work, and on days that I’m off, I usually sleep in too late to justify eating breakfast.

Every once in a blue moon, though, when the stars align, the fates converge, and I forget to turn off my alarm clock, I decide to cook something for breakfast. This was one of those mornings. Actually, my dad woke me up a bit early today, but I still decided to cook some foodstuffs. Normally, when I consider cooking something for breakfast, that entails getting the toaster and popping in some Pop Tarts legacy post time. This morning, though, I wished for something a bit, more… dramatic.  After all, what’s a morning meal without toast, bacon, eggs, and random French music?

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