I am having the breakfast buffet at Friendly's® (home of the not-suggestive-at-all Happy Ending® sundae). The buffet has the strangest selection of anti-meridian comestibles I has ever encountered. Besides the usual eggs, bacon, pancakes, etc., the preprandial panoply includes:
Meatballs in marinara sauce.
Chicken stir-fry.
Fried mozzarella sticks.
And...
Wait for it...
Assorted sushi.
I asked the waitress about this unusual selection and, thinking that I was complaining (I wasn't, just a bit perplexed), became a bit defensive- "hey, lots of folks like meatballs for breakfast" and who was I to question her knowledge of local grazing traditions? I reassured her that I wasn't complaining, just curious. Especially about the sushi. "Yeah, that is a bit weird. The owner gets it from the sushi bar down the road- I think it's what's left over from last night." But who eats sushi for breakfast? "Oh, hipsters from Southhampton; they think it's decadent or ironic or something". Sure enough, there was a small crowd of trilby-bedecked young men and women sashaying 'round the sashimi, reeking of smugness and last night's PBR.
Sometimes, I am convinced that there must be a looking-glass nearby that I accidently stumbled through.
Sent from my HTC WTF?, an alternate universal Windows® phone from the bowels of hell.
The Inn of Infinite Sadness, or alternatively, Smudge and Hobbes' Traumatising Transcendental Transatlantic Trip. Being the adventures of two very large, unwillingly peripatetic, half-Bengal cats and their owner (of rather similar description) as they prepare to leave the North American continent in search of a new life in their (the cats, not the owner) ancestral homeland of Aneda. Sigh, what I won't do for a decent cup of tea.
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