I had what is possibly the greatest dinner in the history of the world last night, and it had absolutely nothing to do with the food (although it was really good). First I realized that my daughter takes after me much more than I thought, which made me super proud. Then, out of nowhere…wait for it…my wife admitted that I was right! I’ll wait for you to get back in your chair before I continue….Ready? Let’s do it.
So, here’s how everything went down. We were having a pretty lazy night, so we decided to just have pancakes for dinner. Now, my wife can do some amazing things with these delicacies. There’s no place for Bisquick in her kitchen. We’ve had everything from oatmeal pancakes to cinnamon pancakes, and they’re always awesome. Last night, however, she decided to just do regular old flapjacks (although made from scratch). They were terrific as always.
When I was growing up, I always ate peanut butter and syrup on my pancakes. It was something that my mother started, and I fell in love with it. I don’t do it very often now because it doesn’t go as well with the more exotic stacks that my wife makes. Last night, however, my wife was the one that actually put the peanut butter on the table. She put the lovely gooey concoction on our son’s pancakes, and I did the same for our daughter. It was pretty obvious that it was a hit.
At one point, I look at my daughter, and I see that she is poking holes in the top of her doublestack with a fork. As my heart swells with joy, I ask her what she’s doing. She told me that she was poking holes in the top pancake so that the peanut butter and syrup would drain down to the bottom one as well. When she said that, I just about started crying. That was exactly what I did 20 (alright, 25) years ago. It was one of my proudest moments and a special kind of awesome.
The dinner would have been perfect right there, but I happen to looked over at my wife, and things became unbelievable. I noticed her eating her flapjack pretty quickly, and when I look down, I notice that there’s peanut butter on it. I have been wanting my wife to try this for years, but she always told me that it looked disgusting. In fact, she used to chastise me for ruining her otherwise perfect pancakes. When I looked up, she had that “Oh sh*t, he caught me” look in her eyes. I asked her how her dinner was, and with a shamed expression, she said, “Ok, it’s really good. I think it might be the perfect combination of salty and sweet.”
The first thing that went through my head was, “does not compute.” After rebooting, I thought, “wow, is this what victory tastes like?” I have to admit. It tasted really, really good. I thought about saying, “I told you so” or maybe dragging the words “you were right” out of her, but some innate sense of self-preservation stopped me. I could feel the challenge coming from across the table. After deep contemplation, I decided that any verbal response on my part would bring down a wrath that volcanoes would be proud of. Instead, I simply smiled and concentrated on my own food. It was a once in a lifetime dinner. It was the kind that you only hear legends about and never thought actually existed, like Bigfoot or good professional football teams in Florida. They are only supposed to be myths. Now, I can say without a doubt that you, as a husband, can actually be right. I hope this story can help you to also shoot for the stars.