Fucking Breakfast

She laughed, licking the syrup from her fingers, and said, “No, with peanut butter.”

“Peanut butter?” he said, making a rather appalled face. “The fuck would you do that to waffles for? Cover ’em in sausage gravy and hot sauce. Some eggs and cheese. Peanut butter. You’re disgusting,” he said, rolling his eyes.

When she drew back, looking shocked at his vehemence, he leaned forward, stabbing one full waffle on his fork. He stuffed an entire quarter of it in his mouth, chewed and swallowed. His throat worked to get it down, but his expression was bliss, in the end.

“Hey!” she cried, trying not to laugh. “That’s my fucking breakfast! You’re going to have to buy me a whole nother plate.”

“I might. But you could settle for the fact that I’ll admit you’re right,” he said, smirking. “Peanut butter is pretty good.”

“You’re an asshole,” she laughed.

“Also right,” he murmured, and promptly shoved another quarter of the waffle in his mouth, shrugging. He gestured to her plate when the waitress walked by, and held up two fingers, grinning around a mouthful of waffle. The waitress rolled her eyes and laughed, but the waffles showed up only three minutes later, hot and crisp, and already slathered in peanut butter.

She laughed until she nearly choked, just to see the look on his face.

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About Catastrophe Jones

Wretched word-goblin with enough interests that they're not particularly awesome at any of them. Terrible self-esteem and yet prone to hilarious bouts of hubris. Full of the worst flavors of self-awareness. Owns far too many craft supplies. Will sing to you at the slightest provocation.
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