Bad bad bad Orphan flap jacks

Miscellaneous and Personal Stuff I Must Share
1

I watched my Mid-dau flap jacks this morning. Her boys standing by with plates in hand, Oliver Twist like.

Two come off the griddle first, kinda quick like. She has a plate on her left.

She plops them, two on the spatula, there.

Goes on to feed her hungry baby birds.

They sit and eat. She turns to her cup of coffee. By her face I decide its gone coolish.

She stands by the counter grabs the warmed syrup pours a bit on the two orphan flapjacks. Takes a couple bites, drinks her a sip of cold coffee. Sticks the whole other one in her mouth. And starts gathering book bags and jackets to get ready to do the school bus run.

Is there anything nicer?

Enjoying that orphan flapjack. Misshapen, maybe a little gooey in a spot. Or crispy edge. Cool coffee to wash it down. Listening to kids chatter.

And one Siamese horror Cat hollering for a *flapjack.

(*Bear, the horror loves LOVES flapjacks. He got one.)

2

When my dad would make pancakes on a Saturday morning, the dog always got the first one off the griddle. For some reason, the first pancake was always kind of pale and odd looking. I’m guessing the griddle wasn’t hot enough yet.

3

It’s the way of the universe. The first pancake is always wrong.

If you need to shorten a table leg it will never work. Never.

You know, Murphys law kinda thing.

:smiley:

4

It works better in Russian, where the word for a pancake is literally “flat”. They have a saying, “First pancake is never flat”.