I will keep this brief to avoid boring you, and also because whenever this site reloads, which has happened several times now, I have to type this story all over again.
Back in high school, I HAD to leave for school really early in order to avoid being late. I may seem obsessive to you, but believe me, you would be too if you were in my situation. I had physics as the first class of the day, and the professor was REALLY strict. How strict, you might ask? Very strict.
Because of this, I had to make my breakfasts the day before I would eat them so that I could arrive at school on time. One of the things I preferred to make was waffles.
In the first half of the semester, my best friendâs cousin, who we shall call Phil, moved in with me. At first, I thought he was a great guy. We shared a lot of interests, like gaming and sports.
Two months later, everything changed. I woke up one morning, smiling at the thought of waffles with maple syrup, and hummed a tune as I completed my morning routine (the part before breakfast). I twirled downstairs and opened the fridge and gracefully lifted the container of waffles off the refrigerator racks only to find itâŚempty. My heart sank as I realized I would not have time to make anything else.
I grabbed a few granola bars (which I fortunately had bought the day before) and thought about the disappearance of my waffles. Sure, this may seem tiny and unimportant, but I needed my waffles in the mornings. They were my breakfast, and gave me the energy I needed to start the day. Sure, I had other foods, but granola bars and crackers just werenât enough.
Just then, Phil walked in. âDo you know what could have happened to my waffles?â I asked him, holding up the empty container.
âOh, sorry,â he said, âI ate those because I ran out of cereal and had nothing else to eat.â
âNothing else?â I said, raising my voice, âNothing else? Did it occur to you that we had, letâs see, granola bars? And that the waffles were MY breakfast that I make EVERY DAY?â
âSorry.â He said. âAt least they were delicious.â I finished my granola bars and stomped off, deciding to let it slide because this had never happened before.
Until it happened the next day. And the next. When I confronted Phil about this, as he obviously had bought cereal at the store, he apologized, saying that the waffles were just really delicious and he couldnât resist them. This happened for weeks, and no matter how hard I tried, he wouldnât stop. He would wake up earlier than I did if I was planning to do the same to him. Even if I hid my waffles, he would find them.
Then one day, I decided I had had enough. When I baked my waffles, I addedâŚvinegar. And hot sauce. Lots of vinegar and hot sauce. I woke up to Philâs angry shouts. He ran into my room, shouting, âWhat the did you put in those ing waffles?â
I tried not to smirk as I calmly replied, âOh, just some stuff that I like.â
âWhy the would you put that in there?â He screamed.
I couldnât hide my smile as I said, âBecause last time I checked, I was making these waffles for my breakfast, not yours, and I can put whatever I want in my breakfast. Let this be a lesson to you, Phil (This isnât his real name, as you already know, so I didnât call him Phil). My waffles, my rules. Donât mess with me or my waffles ever. Again. Because you wonât like me when I donât have my waffles, as you found out today.â
He never stole my waffles again.
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