Friends Don't Let Friends Make Waffles

So, feeling much better today, I decided tonight to fix myself one of those self-indulgent breakfast-for-dinner dinners that every child dreams of. I plugged in the waffle iron, beat milk and eggs in a bowl, and went for the flour.



I keep my flour in a big square Tupperware-type bin, just big enough to hold the contents of a five-pound bag. It sits--because I have no cabinets (don't ask)--on a shelf with the rest of my canned goods and staples.



I grabbed the bin by the lip, and somehow it got away from me. And somehow in the process of getting away from me, the lid came off. And--of course--the bin was brim-full. (These sort of things never seem to happen when the bin is 3/4 empty, do they.)



Did I mention that I was wearing a fleece sweatshirt and fleece slippers at the time?



I now look like the Cocaine Princess. And that's AFTER beating both the slippers and the shirt.



And we won't even discuss the condition of my kitchen--even AFTER sweeping, mopping, sponging, and blotting.



The waffles were good, though.