Sunday morning, I decided to make blueberry pancakes. DD was, of course, still lolling about in bed. PG was, of course, looking up exotic cars on E-Bay. I mixed together the flour, eggs, milk, baking powder, blueberries, hauled out my best frying pan, and started cooking.
While the pancakes were frying, I made myself a café au lait, complete with foamy milk courtesy of my Aeroccino (Seriously, if you don’t have one of these gadgets and you like café au lait or lattés or capuccinos, you have to get one for yourself! They are wonderful!).
Fifteen or so minutes later, I was working on the last four pancakes, with the rest keeping nicely warm in the oven. PG was finding all manner of Fiat Dino Coupés and various models of Porsches for sale. DD staggered downstairs and headed straight for the coffee maker. She got that organized for herself, then retrieved the Aeroccino from the sink where it was draining after I had rinsed it out. She stopped at the fridge.
“What do you mean, ‘where’s the milk’?” I replied. “In the fridge!”
“No, it is not!” (you have to imagine the tone here)
“What are you talking about?!” I opened the fridge. Damn. She was right. No milk. No milk in its usual spot. No milk anywhere else in the fridge.
I glanced at all the kitchen counters. No milk. Yet, I had used it. Twice that morning. But what the hell did I do with it?
I started giggling, and so did DD. Both of us wandered rather aimlessly around the kitchen, looking here and there for the missing milk.
PG, eyes still glued to the laptop screen, piped up. “Try the bottom cupboard, the one where you keep the frying pan and the Aeroccino.”
I did. And there was the milk, neatly sitting where the Aeroccino usually lives.
I laughed so hard at myself that I nearly burned those final four pancakes. DD laughed pretty good too. PG sighed, shook his head, and kept looking at cars.
The three of us eventually had a lovely breakfast of blueberry pancakes with maple syrup and café au lait – well, DD and I did. PG passed on the café au lait.