So this morning I took three of the remaining nine frozen buttermilk pancakes from the freezer, removed the plastic wrap, carefully placed them apart on a microwave safe plate, heated them on high for 1 minute 40 sec, removed, took them to my tray table in front of my recliner in the den and began to eat as I watched tennis replays from last night’s matches at the Western and Southern Open.
The pancakes were supposed to be my reward for more than five months of pancake abstinence in my personally designed program for changing old eating patterns that included three Eggo buttermilk pancakes for breakfast for as long as I could remember. I mean I could have done a commercial for these frozen pancakes for years. I fought a battle every day to just eat three of them – true love.
But today I was disappointed in how bland they tasted. Seriously, what had happened to my favorite breakfast delicacy?
I stared at my plate.
No syrup, I thought. I had forgotten to follow the most important ritual of opening the pantry door every morning to get the bottle of syrup to place on my tray table while the pancakes were in the microwave. Sweet Suffering Jesus, as the Derry Girl mother would have said if she’d forgotten the syrup for pancakes.
Also, I forgot the pancakes should be nuked in a small stack – not carefully separated like first, second and third base on a baseball field. Sigh.
My reward lacked the punch I hoped it would pack.
I think I’ll try again tomorrow morning. I do still have six in the freezer, and disappointing rewards should be given a second chance.
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I'll Call It Like I See It 