Before I say anything else today, I would like to point out to you the phenomenon that is an internet image search. Have you ever noticed the wide variety of strange pictures you can find on the internet? Take the one I have posted above. An enticing stack of mouthwatering pancakes smothered in deliciously warm syrup (you can make up in your own mind whether it is Corn syrup or Maple -- whatever suits your fancy). Why are there pictures of pancakes on the internet? Why are there photos of toe jam? It makes you wonder if there are professional photographers out there who spend their days taking pictures of random things. I suppose if you are in the restaurant business, you would have a valid reason for wanting a striking picture of a favourite breakfast food. But it still seems strange to me that you can find a good picture of pretty much anything on the web. Try it. I dare you.
Getting back to the purpose of today's blog -- "pancakes" has been an evolving theme these past two weeks. I've mentioned before that each morning, Jenn gets up with me and makes breakfast while I get myself ready for work. One morning as I straggled out of bed, she asked, "Would you like pancakes this morning?" I don't know that my response was entirely intelligible, but my crusty-eyed, fluffy-headed, sleepy-sounding response was an emphatic, yet groggy, "Yes please!" We ate, and Jenn waved to me as I walked out of sight (as is our custom).
The day got on, and by 10 o'clock all of us Groundsmen were seated around the "coffee-table" as it is called, though it is much more like an old, slightly-beaten conference table in size. There is a lot of banter around that table each day, and to be honest, it's the funnest part of the work day. Previous to that morning, the other Groundsmen had already become quite aware of Jenn's faithful breakfast-making each morning (I brag to them because my wife is the only one who makes her husband breakfast in the morning), and they asked me (as they do every day), "So, did your wife make you breakfast this morning?" I smiled unashamedly and replied, "Why yes she did. She made pancakes." Suddenly my cohorts became wide-eyed and exclaimed, "PANCAKES?! She made you pancakes?!" They were filled with disgust (not because I consumed pancakes, but because I had and they had not; this kind of disgust is routed in jealousy).
As the day went on (as noted in a previous blog), I kept receiving trade offers for Jenn: "My wife for your wife," or "I'll give you two draft picks! Think of the potential! You could have two instead of one... And I could have pancakes!" I told Nathan (the draft-picks offerer) that I would be hard pressed to find anyone like Jenn -- as would he. (I disagreed with him that he could find someone like her on eBay. But I did mention that she has a younger sister who is single... I'm sorry, Reb... He's a nice guy, really.)
Since then, I have submitted to answering addresses such as "Hey Pancakes!" or "G'morning Flap Jacks." I don't mind at all. Each time they do, they freshly admit who has the best wife of all.
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