I was out for breakfast with my family over the weekend and I couldn’t decide between pancakes and French toast. I eventually settled on French toast, then switched back to pancakes. I did this repeatedly until the waitress came, and then I gave her my order. (Alex ordered pecan banana pancakes, thus the pecan question on Twitter.) As soon as she left, I hissed, “What did I just order?”
“What?” said Alex.
“I can’t remember what I ordered!”
“You literally just ordered it seconds ago.”
“I know that!”
“You’re getting old,” he said dismissively.
I had been deliberating the matter for so long that when I actually gave my order it made no impression on me whatsoever. What I realized as soon as she left was that I wanted pancakes. Suddenly, I wanted pancakes more than anything. But I had a sinking feeling that I had ordered French toast. It turned into a bit of a thing. When she came back with our food, my whole family was craning their necks to see what I wound up with. And when she put French toast in front of me, everyone gave this collective melancholy sigh. Not only was it French toast, it was French toast with strawberries. I do not like strawberries. It was all rather tragic.
BUT THEN. But then she hurried back over and said, “Sorry, that’s not what you ordered,” and gave me pancakes instead, and everyone cheered a little bit and breakfast could continue unimpeded.