PANCAKELESS

Today I hit my head on the tv. It's Claus's fault. This is because he was making pancakes, which is an apparently easy task to do, so he did it outside in what looked like a wind storm with sunshine. He was also set up in the middle of a field, next to a fjord, where there is an inexplicable supply of electricity and electrical outlets.

Claus made thin pancakes, which he insisted on calling pancakes, but which I think the French call crepes and which I think Amurcans call pancakes. He made a syrupy sauce that was red and juicy and possibly came from strawberries, which are in great supply, apparently in addition to electricity, in this field by the fjord. The sauce is called Melissa. I do not know why Claus insisted on calling the sauce Melissa. After the pancakes were lightly toasted in the skillet and laid to rest on a pretty plate, possibly from Ikea, Claus then filled the pancake with vanilla parfait, which is not to be scooped, it's to be sliced. It's parfait, for those of you barbarians out there, and therefore is not allowed to be scooped. Scooping is for ice cream, not parfait. Please make a note of that.

Then Claus stuffed the pancake with straweberries, folded it in half, still called it a pancake, and sprinkled Melissa over it. Then he held the plate out and said, "Here. Have some." And so I leaned over to grab the plate and that's when I knocked my head on the tv. Now I have a bruise on my forehead and I'm pancakeless.