How's about Whoopin me up an OMELET, Sugar?

Y'all know a great way to tell somebody you love em?

Make em an omelet.

I shutter to think of eight years ago, when omelets were limited to early Saturday morning breakfasts out somewhere with my mama. 

Don't get me wrong, I still do looooove me a Saturday morning outing to Jus Enuff. Make you wanna smack somebody. 

But - 

when I met this handsomeness, omelets became available to me while still in ma PJ's. What could be better than home-brewed Dunkin Donuts, and a bomb omelet in my snuggly clothes with this man?

Umm, nothing.

Sadly, in real life, he does not prepare us all omelets at the tailgate, but maybe someday when we reach baller status and start bringin a grill and all that jazzzzz.

the best part is you can put WHATEVA you want in that guy! TONS of gluten-free options!

Look at that sauteed spinach. salivating.

I know I sound like one lazy heifer right now. And yes, my husband cooks a lot. But in my defense:

1) He is PICKY and he doesn't like me to actually do the cooking. He'd rather me help him get the ingredients ready. Trust me on this. Now you don't wanna turn the heat up that high. Now, you don't wanna use this cutting board for this. Now, this knife isn't really good for this kinda thing.  

Fine den! Go 'head on wit ya bad self!

and

2) I have attempted to make my own blamed omelet. But, they always get too runny in the middle, or burnt on one side or the ingredients be hangin out all kindsa ways and look like somethin somebody done messed with already and left on their plate because it won't good. 

They certainly don't turn out like this:

But, y'all know what they say ...

The way to a real woman's heart is through her stomach.