BIG FAT PANCAKES

Today I didn't feel well. I had unfortunate surprises! Like the band-aid fell off my knee exposing a huge pussing welt from when I fell down running the other night. Like sun-burn on my face (when did THAT happen?). Like getting really frustrated with Atlas Shrugged. I feel like I've been reading it my whole life. I feel like I should have read it ten times by now, but I'm only halfway done. It's called editing, Ayn.

I felt all shaky and weak--only able to eat a few saltines. Then, at 4, I was suddenly feeling better. The gauzy haze lifted off my Life, and I was HUNGRY. DARK CHOCOLATE, my body screamed, GIVE ME DARK CHOCOLATE NOW. I texted Dad asking what dinner plans were looking like. He was busy, busy. I could not wait! Finally, at 5:30 he was home. YES, IT IS CHOCOLATE DINNER TIME. I started listing all our options--each option either ending in brownies or including semi-sweet chips!

...But he had unfortunate surprises too. A crazy day at the paper. A woman down the street murdered her two children, tried to kill herself, and lit the house on fire.

...Oh.
So.
It is time to listen patiently.
I guess.
But in my guts:

CHOC-
O-
LATE.

CHOC-
O-
LATE.

I nodded. Other things. Yes, so sad. I nodded.
I MEANT it, but also half my brain chanted:

CHOC-
O-
LATE.

At long last, "So, what do you think for dinner?"
And I knew, "PANCAKES PANCAKES PANCAKES!"

I made huge heaping stacks of dark chocolate, strawberry, banana pancakes.

We live in a world in which one night a woman can stab a 9 and 11 year-old and the next a father and daughter are sitting at the dining room table with whipped cream and dessert masquerading as breakfast masquerading as dinner.