Chris made the stinkin’ waffles. It became an “I’ll prove Lindy wrong Ha!” crusade. On Wednesday morning, I woke up before him and found this waiting in the kitchen.
He had also, maturely, written me a large note that said, “WAFFLES!” I neglected to photograph this.
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday passed with no waffles made. Several times during this period Chris said things like, “I can’t wait to make those pancakes!” and it became clear that Chris did not know the difference between waffles and pancakes. When I called him out on this language garbling, he said, “eh, it’s like a dress and a skirt, basically the same thing.” A dress and a skirt are NOT the same thing (you may know this already) but Chris decided long ago to reject this knowledge.
Back to waffles.
Saturday night, Chris carefully read the instruction manual for the Griddler.
Then he carefully read it again.
He carefully poured the mix.
So Chris wins. He made waffles. And yes, he did eat them. I was impressed that he did not weigh them (although I’m sure he knew an estimate of the macros). So that he could still feel at least a little bit of self-deprivation induced joy, he did use disgusting sugar-free syrup. Why actually enjoy the waffles with real syrup when you can add bloat-inducing yucky sludge to them?
Now, will he ever make them again? I want to say, “No, never,” but if I do that, he’ll just take it as a challenge and cook them every day to spite me. And actually, now that I think about it…that could be interesting. How far will he take it? He’s a man of routines and “making waffles to spite Lindy” could be a new thing to add in there: workout, eat, stretch, roll on foam roller and softball, hang upside down, watch videos of squats, obsess over abnormalities in videos of squats, look up exercises to correct abnormalities in videos of squats, try exercises, make spite waffles, shower. I think I like it. So, here goes: Chris will never make waffles again. I challenge him to prove me wrong.