Every now and then, when the day is busy ’round these parts, my momma makes breakfast for dinner.
We don’t mind so much, because it’s yummy.
My mom always has 2 different pancake batters going – plain and blueberry.
So, it was my turn for pancakes.
“Hey Laura, what kind of pancakes do you want?”
(I know what you’re saying to yourself right now. You’re saying, “She’s a twenty-four-year-old married woman who lives with her parents, and now, her mom is making her pancakes to order. Pathetic.” Well, to you I say, “You’re just jealous that my mom is awesome, and yours isn’t.”)
“Plain.” I said
“Well, I’ll have one blueberry.”
I came out later to see 4 pancakes on the griddle – 2 of them were blueberry, 1 was plain, and the last one had one single blueberry, smack dab in the center of it.
“Mom, what’s with the one blueberry?” I asked
“That’s yours.” She said “You asked for one blueberry, didn’t you?”
“Mom, I meant one blueberry pancake, not one blueberry.”
Lots of laughter followed.
She didn’t want me to blog about it, but I did. Because it was just that funny.