Waffles
(repost– from 2009)
So I got woken up this morning by a text from Jenn saying “hey! did you try on that dress yet?”…. Great. She interrupted my delicious dream of me eating waffle-house waffles. The pecan ones with butter melted just so perfectly that no way in real life could this ever happen.
Her text reminded me that I was -SUPPOSED- to go to David’s Bridal and try on a dress (size 14… gah.) and see if it fit, and then she would buy it at her Ohio store, since it was on clearance.
Now, I wouldn’t mind this awakening–except I was dreaming about Waffles. delicious waffles… Pecan waffles, which later became a craving of banana-peacan-chocolate-chip waffles with real butter and coffee (to be exact.) So I was a little bitter.
So I get up. I shower. I get to david’s bridal and see…… crap. They don’t open for another hour. OF COURSE! *grumble* I could be at waffle-house RIGHT NOW.. ENJOYING MY DELICIOUS WAFFLES! but noooooooooooo. I have to be across town at the stupid un-opened David’s Bridal. I think about calling Jenn to complain, but then remember back to my Maid-of-Honor book saying to never call the bride to complain because ‘she has enough on her plate’…. I bet that plate had waffles on it.
So I go to starbucks to kill time. I ordered a chai and then caught the baristo (male version of barista?) staring at my boob! uh.wtf? I did the whole hand-gesture of “hey buddy.. my eyes are up here” thing and then he commented on “Where in the World is Carmen Sandiego” (the shirt I am wearing) and said “I loved that show!”
I glance at his name tag (Allen) and say “Well, I wrote a musical based on it. This is the t-shirt from said musical. It was for little kids back in my home-town.” After I said ‘home’ I instantly regretted it. He leaped for joy and exclaimed (louder than necessary) “Wow! Where are you from?”
Countless cities, states and countries flew through my head. Where am I from or where is my accent from? Why did he want to know this when he already knew the answer because I said “h-oh-ome”? I sigh and state “Ohio, but my accent is from Wisconsin/Canada.”
Stupid Wisconsin/Canadian accent.
He (again) leaps for joy and says that he absolutely adores the accent and asks me more questions so I can talk more (in my stupid Canadian/Wisconsin accent). I’m annoyed but flattered at the same time. Why the hell would a Texan like my accent? Why doesn’t he like the Baaahstan accent better? More importantly, why doesn’t Starbucks serve waffles so I have a stomach-filling reason to stay and eat/talk to this Baristo Allen?
So I get my chai and leave, never to see/talk to Allen and his stupid north-accent-loving self and go to the David’s Bridal where I try on the dress that I barely fit into it. Stupid boobs. Sighing, I realize that I need to diet from now until the wedding and shouldn’t have those delicious banana-pecan-chocolate-chip waffles. This made me depressed. What do I do when I’m depressed? I eat. Alas, I will be eating crappy spinach salad instead of my delicious banana-pecan-chocolate-chip waffles with the real butter melted so perfectly it can never be duplicated…. ah screw it. I’m making waffles.