Who wants what where?

I had been to breakfasts hung over before, but never to a true Hangover Breakfast.

Tara and I woke up after a party and tried to herd the rest of the house to a favorite breakfast spot (with zero luck).  Feeling lucky enough to wrangle each other and our friend Kerrin (who had crashed off-site), we decided to head out anyway.

Though unlikely under the legal limit, we picked up Kerrin and headed to a favorite haunt of ours, Club Bart. 
After stumbling into the restaurant and being seated at a table, we started waxing nonsequitor about current events, sex, etc.
We were laughing about a story from the night before:

Justin’s ex-hookup in college used to be a Ms. Hyde-cum-Dr. Jeckyll him every time they hooked up, turning from a sweet neighbor into a queer sex-addict.  She would turn to him during a lull in a normal conversation and say, with earnestness, forcefullness, “I want you inside me”. 
He admitted that the first time he heard it, pretty hot.  But with each subsequent repeat, it got creepier and creepier.  

We thought this was such an amazing tagline of creepiness, we would obviously have to work it into our normal, everyday conversation.
“This oatmeal sundae looks delicious, I WANT IT INSIDE ME”
“Coffee is so hot right now, I WANT IT INSIDE ME”
“That waiter is cute, I WANT HIM INSIDE ME”
We were belligerently entertained.  And it stuck.

It’s become the philosophy of all things delicious.  And is (not even) veiled in sexual innuendo.  And that’s how it worked its way into our lives.  And this blog.