@RubberToe you are a gentleman and a scholar. As you will likely find another more worthy of your Apollo invites, I would request Waffles.
Waffles actually reminds me of a breakfast I once had. Now I didn't have waffles for breakfast but pancakes on this occasion and this morning my wife saw fit to ruin them. Let me rewind. The night previously my infant woke up in the night of the middle quite loud and fussy. Me and my wife proceeded to play rock paper scissors as we usually do when the baby wakes one of us. She played Rock and I played a snore because I was not actually awoken by the noise. After declaring her victory she, with great agility for a woman of her size kicked me out of bed. Now on my way down to to check if the ground with still hard, my flailing knocked my glasses behind my bed. To many such an occurrence would be annoying but to me, well, I'm so blind by the time something is close enough to my face for me to see it, it's already down my throat. (My first date with my wife was fun let me tell you) Blind groggy and some superposition of awake and asleep, I stumbled to my fleshy noise emitter to find him rooting for something to suck on like a large pink leech. A few gears grinded and thought I should feed this creature to make the noise stop so after stumbling, falling, then stumbling to the fridge filled with sweet creaming pumpings of my wife's tits, I proceeded to fill a bottle with said liquid. Now it just so happens that in my theatrics in meeting the floor I gathered upon my persons some hair from our cat. This Vita-black creature of antimatter sheds more than grizzly and I was covered. So as the bottle was filled halfway with several ounces of extracted human diary, the longest blackest strand of feline hair fails from my face straight into this bottle, so big and bold even i could see it fall in. Now no offspring of mine needs a hair in their bottle and the wife would kill me as this good stuff is hard to squeeze out of her. I try at first with a finger to retrieve the blackness but with no success. Then rummaging through the flatware drawer discover there is are no spoons. I tried a fork but just pushed it around. Then the human larvae gave another cry and I knew if I didn't hurry, I would be kicked back in bed just to get kicked out of it again. Panicking I noticed the shape of a spoon on the counter, likely used, in as much clarity as the Gulf of Mexico and grabbing it proceed to, of course, drop the whole damned spoon into the bottle. In one shot I retrieved the hair and and tossed it and spoon behind me and ran with the milk, screwed on the nipple, stubbed my toe, and slammed it into the milk warmer we keep in the bathroom and pressed start. Another cry emanated from my spawn so I quickly moved to scoop him up and rock him during the few minutes it would take to heat the boob juice. To my groggy surprise, the rocking worked well and he just fell asleep once more. Tired and victorious I returned to enjoy the last few hours of the sun being gone. The problem was that spoon. For dessert my wife had used that spoon. Something healthy, dairy, with live cultures. The 2nd problem was I forgot the milk in the warmer. The 3rd problem was it was mid July in the South and the bathroom vents are closed. The 4th and final problem was my wife found it first. Take raw milk, add live cultures from a spoon, the heat from an over enthusiastic bottle warmer, the whole hot July evening to incubate, and you have my wife dumping homemade human yogurt all over my pancakes in a rage I can to this day not properly describe. Wasn't half bad really.