It didn’t much matter that the waffles were sans whipped cream, but it’s the little things that pile up to big things that result in massive explosions and still no whipped cream. Yes, it is a lose-lose situation.
That is the way Cheree’s morning dawned, the start of a horrible, terrible, no-good, very bad day. As a book my mother used to read so aptly put it.
Yes, I’m Cheree. And yes, I enjoy speaking of myself in the third person. It adds a certain, Je ne sais pas. French is always good to throw in, too. Adds character and a bit of the modern, chic woman. But with shaved pits.
But anyway. If you couldn’t tell already, I am the possessor of a fabulously dry and intelligent wit. It is my only salvation in a world that so thoroughly ignores me, and from which I so thoroughly desire its attention.
My morning, that’s where I was. I just wanted you to know me first. Third person—check. Un peu grasp of French—right-o. Stunning wit—better believe it. Ahem. The waffles were without whipped cream, and being the thoroughly sensitive, kind (or rather shy) person I am, neglected to inform the waitress. I instead assuaged myself with thoughts of her unfortunate demise—maybe something with the toaster. Hey, it’s the truth, ok?