posted on: Thursday April 22, 2010
Maryclaire Dugre ’10
Awful Waffle. This morning I housed a Belgian waffle. It was as wide as a Frisbee, as thick as two, and segmented into that symmetrical square design that alone distinguishes it from the alternative breakfast carb of choice—the ever-boring pancake. In short, it was perfect, and I was happy. But as I fell into the familiar rapid plate-to-mouth hand motion (“housing”), I could only think, “What the hell happened to all the syrup?” Scout’s honor—no matter how much Aunt Jemima’s I douse my plate with, it’s magically gone about mid-waffle ingestion. Don’t tell me it “seeps in”; we’re not talking tye-dyed shirts or face moisturizer.