Pancakes

Short story I wrote five years ago

            I woke one Saturday morning in my youth with a craving for pancakes. Dad was out of town and Mom was at work, so I had the house to myself. Upon entering the kitchen it became clear that a dish I needed was...indisposed. So, somewhat put out but still full of naive hope, I washed the frying pan, and then poured the Bisquick into the bowl. 
            Peering into the little cardboard hut of eggs revealed a shortage. This was remedied easily enough. I simply removed half of the dry batter and dumped it back into its box. After adding the egg, another trip to the fridge was required for milk. Closer inspection of this “milk” revealed that it had expired three days before. My cheery and optimistic attitude on pancake making was not to be crushed however, and I obstinately persisted in my quest.
            Resourcefulness was key on this day of pancakery, and after a quick rummage in the fridge, I found a small carton of “Heavy Whipping Cream” to substitute the milk. Unfortunately, this also meant that the pancakes would be accompanied by a nice tall glass of water on the table.
            The batter was completed, for better or worse. With my first puddle of flapjack safely bubbling away in the frying pan, I turned from the stove, just for a moment. A pair of adorable pink scissors resting on the kitchen table reminded me of some ends which had been splitting. With a furtive glance towards the stove, I took them to the bathroom and became absorbed in trimming my hair.
            Several minutes passed, and I noticed an acrid scent in the air. After a moment of bemused sniffing, the memories returned in a flood. I rushed back to the kitchen. Copious clouds of smoke were issuing forth from the pan, and I turned the stove off. I pranced frantically around the room, leaping like an acrobat as I waved a towel at the fire alarms.
            When all the windows had been opened, my attention turned towards the misbegotten, crispy little disk of charred blackness steaming sadly in the frying pan. This was thrown into the yard, for whatever starving creature would have it.
            After an unbelievably dry second attempt, there was only enough batter left for one pancake. I knew I had to make it count. I turned the stove on very low, so as not to cook it too quickly or dry it out. Hovering over the stove with laser concentration, I monitored the flapjack. Once the wet surface began to bubble, I worked the spatula beneath it and flipped. A flawless golden-brown pancake shimmered tantalizingly in the heat of the stove. I turned to retrieve a plate, utensils, butter and…
            Only then did I realize that we had no syrup.

Author's Note

Yes, It is supposed to be silly and nonsensical.

Reviews

[Linda Marie Van Tassell]

Somtimes, no matter the positive outlook and no matter how hard we try, things just don't turn out right. This happens throughout life. The key is to always strive to get up and try it again. This builds strength of character to help you get through the tough spots.

[Lyn Anderson]

This is a darling piece. The "bad hair day" story of pancakery. Love it.

[Bob Sherunkle]

That was lovely.Take's me back to my youth when I burned any kind of food substance!Nothing's changed!