The Waffle House breakfast
We never ate at a Waffle House until we came to the south. My husband said the truck knew the way to the one near us and he didn't even have to steer. I'm homeschoolin' in the morning, my husband disappears for two hours, I ask where he's been. The Waffle House, he says.
This is our last meal at a Waffle House on our way out of Tennessee. It's a greasy spoon is what it is. Delicious food. Nice help. The waiter reached right across the front of me to hand my son his breakfast. He reached so close that I could have leaned forward two inches and bit his arm. I didn't though. I was bein' ladylike.
See on the left side of my plate? Thems is grits. I like grits. They sound weird. G-r-i-t-s. Sounds like something big, but they're little grains like Cream of Wheat. Real good.
No comments:
Post a Comment