DatingJosh

One of my favorite memories about Kim is one I call “The Flapjack Fiasco.” First of all, the mere fact that she cringes at the word flapjack is good for a chuckle. Like watching her cringe at the word moist. As in, “Man, these are some moist flapjacks!” Kim, if you are out there reading this, than MOIST…MOIST…MOIST!!! That probably engaged the gag reflex, didn’t it?

Anyway, Kim, because she is so sweet, wanted to make pancakes one morning. She got out all the ingredients and prepared the batter. She heated up a skillet on the range top and doled out the first dollop of the mix onto its surface. Now, as we all know, the first pancake is always sacrificial; it never comes out right. It is the mutant that is usually fed to the dog! Yet I could immediately tell that Kimberly was irritated with this lesser specimen, almost as if the pancake was mocking her. Over my protests, she tossed the hapless jack into the sink and doled out mix for another. The aroma at this point, by the way, was heavenly.

The second pancake began to cook and it became instantly clear that it would not meet the exacting standards of the cook so, accompanied by a short string of curses, it was summarily lobbed into the sink, where it sullenly ran down the stainless steel sidewall and came to rest on top of its sacrificial cousin.

Somewhere around this time, extra milk was added to the batter to thin it out somewhat, and a third pancake was attempted. This one immediately began to run, amoeboid, every which way in the pan until it began to quickly brown. This was more than Kimberly could take. “Son of a BITCH!!” she exclaimed, and tossed both the protean pancake and the remaining batter into the sink.

I could not hold it in any longer; I put both my arms around her and began laughing uncontrollably. She was so irritated and looked so forlorn, my pancake perfectionist. I know it only stemmed from her thwarted attempt at doing something nice for me, but I wish she would have known it did not matter a whit; the simple act of her making me pancakes was more than enough. I would have happily eaten the art-deco pancakes; hell, I would have licked the batter out of the bowl!

She calmed down, whipped up another batch of batter, and made me the best pancakes I have ever eaten. They were flawless in every way.

The reason I am bringing this up? Not too long before this, I had a similar meltdown while trying to make deviled eggs for the two of us! Aargh, I couldn’t peel the shells off those fucking eggs to save my life! And of course, she had a tremendous laugh at my consternation.

Kim, the two of us are so very much alike. Thank you again for the pancakes.