Who invented “breakfast in bed?” Who? I want to know which genius thought it would be absolutely brilliantly sweetly romantic to bring breakfast to your lover in bed, possibly splashing coffee all over the white silk sheets, permanently staining the pillowcases with bacon grease, and leaving a trail of muffin crumbs where, really now, no muffin crumbs should ever go? Who?
Breakfast in bed is a very bad idea. Why don’t we have lunch in bed? Or dinner in bed? Because those are stupid, that’s why. On your anniversary, your lover doesn’t insist you jump between the sheets at noon so that he or she can bring you an egg salad sandwich in bed. When you and your lover want to share a cozy, intimate dinner, you don’t slip into your jammies at 7:30 PM and share a bowl of chicken pesto pasta in bed. Good gracious, I don't even want to think about kimchee jji-gae in bed. (If you’re naked, hey, that’s not for this blog). Lunch in bed and dinner in bed both sound ridiculous because it's messy, awkward, potentially dangerous (oops! I dropped the knife...under the pillow), and no one wants to wake up with egg yolks smashed into her hair. What makes us think breakfast in bed is any better?
It’s not better. It’s worse. Breakfast in bed supposed to be romantic. But I dont have to tell you that there is nothing romantic about groggy, froggy voice, sleep in your eyes, morning breath, glasses with lenses as thick Coke bottles, in sweats that are so old and tattered your alma mater’s name is hardly recognizable. Your high school alma mater? Whoa, time for new sweats, princess.
Wait...you actually wake up with your hair smooth and silky, fully flossy glossy make-up, in a negligee (or silk boxers for the guys – but if you’re wering a negligee, hey, again, that’s a different blog)? If you look that good, that means you probably didn’t have that much fun the night before, so you’re not getting breakfast in bed anyway. Besides, last time I checked, even a gorgeous diva like Jessica Simpson looks like absolute hell in the morning (after).
Breakfast in bed is not romantic because you have dragon breath, and when you have dragon breath, pancakes taste no different than your flannel sheets, except that flannel doesn’t drip maple syrup all over yourself. Oh, but what about thick, fluffy buttermilk pancakes, hmmm? Right. I meant pancakes taste like your down comforter. So, maybe you get up and brush your teeth first. Now you’re up. Why would you get back into bed? If you’re already out of bed, save yourself the laundry money and eat your French toast in the sunny breakfast nook that tacked an additional $200 to your rent each month.
The only breakfast I would ever consider eating in bed is...nothing. Nothing! I don’t want breakfast in bed. Ever. Especially not scones, because those things crumble under the slightest pressure faster than the kickers on both teams in the Orange Bowl. Oops! Did I say that? Sure made for an exciting game, though.
So apparently I don’t love scones because they’re crumbly, and I don’t love breakfast in bed even less. Whoa, grammar monkey, don’t think so hard. Basically, I don’t like either, but that sure didn’t stop me from baking pumpkin scones with dried cranberries, eating them in bed, watching the Golden Globes. :)
Wait a second here, Eater of Breakfast-in-bed! Don't I suck at baking? Yes, yes I do, which is why this pumpkin cranberry scone tasted less like a dry, crumbly scone and more like an overgrown triangular muffin-top. The scone's muffin-ness is probably why I didn't end up with scone crumbs in my bed, only a wayward dried cranberry here and there. Next time - dried cranberries go in the scone, not on the scone.