Pancake Surprise

Today, in the hollow space that resides between my car and the open driver’s door, I found a pancake.

above: no, really

My first thought was that perhaps it was a giant mushroom that had taken a liking to the mishmash of leaves and dirt that has accumulated over the years, but when I prodded the perfectly preserved breakfast disk with my keys, I was left with little doubt as to its yummy Bisquick® nature.

Now don’t say it, because I had the same thought: “Oh, Kyle, you silly bitch! You must have placed the pancake there while under the heavy influence of alcohol!”.

Sound logic, but no. And for one simple reason:

I don’t eat pancakes. Pancakes are, as our brothers in O-town would say, “fo suckas”. Waffles are the way to go. Their little square nooks of perfection offer to the breakfast connoisseur a considerably superior syrup solution to that of the pancake’s method. i.e. soaking up all the syrup to the point where the entire dish is soggy and has doubled in size by bite #3.

So please, if you somehow shimmied a pancake down between the panels of my car, I’d love to ask you a few basic questions:

1) Why a pancake?
2) Why me?
3) How did you get it in there? I’m the only one that drives this car and I always keep it locked
4) A pancake?