What the French, Toast?

So I have to give the biggest, maddest props to the husband of the year…mine. This weekend he has continued to spoil me. Saturday morning I woke up to homemade cinnamon rolls from scratch (yes, even the dough! Mind blown right? I know mine was). Then today, he got up and fed the gatos, and as I’m laying there drifting in and out of a sleepy haze, I smell the sweet heavenly smell of bacon wafting up the stairs. The best part of waking up? Sorry Folgers, it will never be you. You never had a chance. It will, however, always be bacon. 

Yes. Bacon. As I’m laying there immersed in this most delightful aroma, I see my fella round the corner with coffee in hand. He brought me coffee in bed!! Amazeballs is what he is in case you haven’t figured that out yet. 

Once I finally make it downstairs, I see that this man has made me French toast with homemade challah bread. “Delicious” does not sufficiently describe it. Mic dropped, seriously. I’m too full to continue writing. I’ll chat with you later. It’s nap time. 


One thought on “What the French, Toast?

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