The toast that can be eaten in the car is not the true toast. That is at best, previously warmed soggy buttered bread.

I feel a Neil Stephenson level discursive diversion coming on, complete with descriptions of the proper feel of toast on the roof of the mouth as the butter softens, but doesn't eliminate the sharp pointy bits, but it's late, and I should be paying attention to my wife while the kids manage to sleep.

(((Thank gnu that the kids sleep now. 7 years of one of them waking up every. single. night. gets very old. )))

Tell us, oh wise one, how we may enter Breakfast Nirvana with you. Teach us, oh enlightened Breakfast Master, how to enter into the Kingdom of Breakfast Heaven.

I eat two pieces of toast in the morning for breakfast because I want to eat two pieces of toast in the morning for breakfast. Just like I haven't eaten red meat in 26 years because I don't like red meat. I am not starving myself, I am not sacrificing my tastes, I am eating exactly what I want to eat.

Should I list other things I enjoy doing that happen to be healthful that you can disparage?