I do my best to be healthy. I go to the gym, I live in NYC so I have to walk everywhere I go and I do my best to eat lots of veggies. Sometimes though, all I want is a huge ice cream cone, some french fries or a giant slurpee.
Yesterday, I had a sudden craving to make pancakes. In order to not gain 1,000 pounds, I found a recipe for Protein Pancakes. It wasn’t ideal but it would do the trick.
Boyfriend and I headed to the grocery store. Luckily finding all of our ingredients wasn’t too difficult (I think this proves that we are improving as the Culinary Experts we think we are). Next, we headed to his teeny tiny kitchen to whip up some amazing and guilt-free pancakes.
I followed the recipe. I really did. I promise. I had the dry ingredients and then added in the wet ingredients and then I added in the chocolate chips.
Okay, great, I have all of my ingredients (measured correctly) in my bowl and I’m mixing away, doing my thing, living the dream. Feeling good.
Inner Thoughts of Carly:
“Wow, I’m so excited to eat these pancakes”
“Hm, these are super chunky”
“Yep, still chunky”
“Maybe, if I stir faster the chunks will go away.”
“These chunks are here to stay”
“I hate these pancakes.”
“I’m gonna cook them anyway.”
Actual Conversation that happened:
Boyfriend: “Carly, I think we should add more milk, pancakes shouldn’t look like that.”
Me: “No, I did it right. I’m just gonna put all of this in the pan. It’s gonna work.”
So, being the stubborn Taurus that I am, I threw those chunky lumps into the pan. And guess what, boyfriend was most certainly right, and I was wrong. Those things were not pancakes, should never be called pancakes, and should never be eaten.
I was sad.
Boyfriend then tried to save the day. He added an obscene amount of milk to what was left of the batter and then threw that batch into the pan.
Boyfriend’s version was a soupy mess.
We both left the apartment feeling hungry and sad.
I’m still depressed.