Yours Truly

Waffles

Audrey sighed as she dumped yet another batch of burnt waffles into the trash. She'd been up all morning trying to make the perfect batch of waffles before her husband woke up. Her expectations for a 'perfect batch' quickly turned into a 'non-charcoally batch'. But even that seemed impossible at this point. She turned back to the recipe book, trying to figure out what she had done wrong. She had kept careful watch over them and she hadn't gotten distracted. She hadn't even left the kitchen!

Just then, she heard footsteps coming down the stairs. Sure enough, Seymour peaked his head in through the kitchen door.

"Whaddya doin' sweet pea?" he asked quizzically.

"Well, I was tryin' to surprise ya with waffles, but I . . ." she trailed off, gesturing to the mess around her.

"You didn't have to do that Audrey," he smiled sweetly.

"I'm glad you feel that way," she rolled her eyes, "because I didn't make any,"

Seymour laughed and crossed the kitchen to where Audrey stood, leaning against the counter. He gave her a big hug and a playful kiss on the cheek. She leaned into him and closed her eyes.

"Why don't we start by cleaning up a little," Seymour said, resting his chin on her shoulder, "Then maybe we can try again together." He smiled his sweet slightly crooked smile up at her. Audrey nodded and crossed to the sink to get them both a damp dishcloth.

They spent the next fifteen minutes washing mixing bowls, sweeping up flour, and scrubbing the counters. But it was fun! Water was flung playfully, surprise hugs and kisses were given, and the house rang with laughter. Audrey shared a silly dream about turtles and they both fell into fits of giggles. Seymour got flour in his hair, making him look considerably older. Paired with silly faces, fake accents, and general slap happiness, the two found that hysterical.

Finally, everything was back to its proper place. The ingredients for their next attempt lay neatly lined up on the countertop, and a few mixing bowls sat next to them.

"Are you ready for attempt number . . ." Seymour looked jokingly at Audrey.

"Five hundred million!" she giggled.

Peering over the recipe book, they stumbled through flour, sugar, chocolate chips, baking powder, and more. Eventually, the batter was poured onto the griddle. The couple sat down at the table to wait.

"I think we did a good job," Seymour said.

"I think we did!" Audrey laughed, pouring them each a cup of coffee, "But we're not done yet!"

"I've got faith in us!" They both broke out laughing again, happy and without a care in the world. Just then, the timer went off and they both jumped up.

Audrey opened the griddle slowly . . .

You've never seen more perfect waffles. They were warm and buttery, with just the right amount of crispiness on the edges. Each dimple was just right, perfect for holding little pockets of syrup. They looked as if they could have been pictured in a magazine. . .

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Seymour licked syrup off his lips and sighed happily, leaning back in an ecstasy of chocolate, strawberries, and powdered sugar.

"Well, I guess we know now that waffles," he paused for effect, "are meant to be made together,"

Audrey laughed, "We gotta make sure we rememba that next time!" She got up, grabbed a pen, and opened the recipe book again. At the top of the page she wrote:

*Meant to be made together*