our particular brand of madness

...we bought a waffle maker.

Awwwwyeaaaaaahhhh...

Waffles with ice-cream, waffles with maple syrup, waffles with butter, home-made freaking waffles with freaking home-made freaking strawberry jam. Do you have any idea, even a hint of a whiff of a clue how much more time it takes to get out the door to work now?

Work at five, leave home at four-thirty was the olden-golden rule. But now...now, you shiny silver belgian bastard...now I have to factor in time to make the batter and heat the iron...and you can't just make one. Oh, no, if you've made enough batter for a dozen you might as well just go on ahead and make the whole batch. After all, you can have a waffle any time of the day.

So. To be at work at five I must now get out of my pit at three-fifteen. Did you even know there is a three-fifteen in the morning? I just thought it was an afternoon time or a really late time at night, you know, after the pubs and clubs boot you out and after you can't get a good pizza, no matter how much you bang on the pizza shop door.

Waffle maker, th'art mine enemy, and I shall defeat ye. I shall wear ye down, laddie. Mark my words, you shall break before I tire of the waffles.