This post is for Jake Williams, so he can hear about my pancake-burning adventures.
It was a dark and dreary morning, only 27 degrees outside when I received a text-message that woke me up. This text message was from my gym buddy, telling me that we should skip today on account of the massive amounts of ice on the roads.
“Ugh,” I thought, when I heard the snow plow drive up my street. “Snow sucks.”
I rolled out of my warm bed to find that I had never turned the heat on yesterday, and that it was quite cold in my apartment. Now that I wasn’t going to the gym, I had time to kill before going in to work at noon. This could only mean one thing:
I’m having brunch.
I gathered all of the ingredients. There were so many of them: Aunt Jemima just-add-water pancake mix, and water. I put all of the ingredients in a mixing bowl that I recently purchased at Tj-Maxx and mixed away, splattering brown goop on the wall and counter as I did.
I heated up the skillet, getting ready for the best pancakes I had ever eaten.
“Oh, who’s that driving up the driveway?,” I thought, and walked away from the stove to my living room window. A strange man was outside, one that didn’t live here, and I watched and wondered what he could be up to.
(Que dramatic tones: DUN DUN DUN) Until the smoke alarm went off.
I ran to the kitchen and couldn’t believe my eyes. My pancake was black. My ears were ringing. “How the heck do I turn that thing off?,” I thought.
I grabbed a chair, since I’m too short to reach the smoke detector, and pressed every button until it turned off.
I didn’t eat pancakes this morning.
After reading this story, I hope you’re influenced to listen to some good music, in which you should listen to Rilo Kiley’s “Smoke Detector,” which this post is named in honor of.