Bruised Eggo

Bruised Eggo

So, sometimes life throws you a curve ball. Sometimes the curve ball is flat, toasted, and looks like it’s been beaten with a set of football cleats. Yes, for me, it was those tasty curve balls know as “Eggo Waffles.” A hot waffle is something akin to heaven under the right circumstances. I was hungry, and that was all the circumstance I needed. I bought the economy box (Translation: Waffles in bulk), and made my merry way into the kitchen. And to show that I’m not a selfish guy, I made waffles for everyone. Granted, my son doesn’t like waffles, and since my parents always hated it when we wasted food, I made the sacrifice and had the waffles my son didn’t want. It was basically waffles with a side of waffles. Each one was bathed in butter and dripped with golden syrup. Sticky, gooey, yummy syrup. Wait … I need to wipe the drool off my chin. … … … Okay, I’m back.

So yeah. There I was, stuffing my face with hot pastry — Are waffles pastries? How do you classify those little non-pancakes? — when all of a sudden, I remembered I was on a diet. Well darn. Screwed that one up! I’d been bested by … by … whatever it is you’d call them. Pastries. Sweet breads. Football Cleat Cakes. Whatever. Did I mention the syrup? Oh heaven!

I dragged myself over to my chair to think about what I’d just done — and also because I was sure the sugar spike would send this diabetic dummy into a wicked mini-coma. As I began to lose consciousness, I had this one thought, “Why did I … where … ummm … coconuts.” [Drool]

I’m reminded of the demotivator poster of a sinking cruise ship. It read, “Sometimes your life is meant to serve as a bad example to others.” Yep. That’s me.

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