Waffle House: Exposed

February 5, 2008

I always had a thing against Wafflehouse.  Truth be told, I am a member of “Team Pancake.”  I see the practical applications of a waffle and all, but I just like the classic stack of pancakes that will inevitably lead you down a road to the pot of gold at the end of the sugary rainbow that some people call “a diabetic coma.”   Besides, call me traditionalist, but in our modern world I find any menu that states: “NO SHARING UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES” just plain unfriendly.

Today I was talking to my boss which lead to a discussion about webkinz (which I had never heard of before) and somehow that turned into a conversation that reminded me of a horrible experience I went through a few years ago.   It was a lovely spring day and I was driving (at 67 mph) up US-23 with the windows down, the breeze in my hair.  Guys may or may not have this issue, but sometimes with girls pants there is a little gap at the back near the top of the butt.  It happens.  It’s no big deal.  It sometimes gives you a sneak peak of our panties.  Anyway, as I was driving along I felt something tickle … my upper butt, essentially.  I assumed it was a tag and tried to tuck it back into place.

Bad decision number 1.

Suddenly the burning hatred of a thousand white-hot suns surged from my upper butt!  SOMETHING WAS VERY WRONG!!  And, while hurdling down the interstate only 2 mph over the posted speed limit, I realized A WASP HAD FLOWN INTO MY WINDOW AND DOWN MY PANTS.  Panic.  Panic set in.  I was always one of those people who feared CPR – terrorized I wouldn’t know what to do when the time came.  My teachers always assured me “In the moment of panic, you’ll just go into autopilot.  There wont’ be time to worry, you’ll just act without thinking.”  I never believed them until that day.

Somehow I managed to veer my car off at the nearest exit (being repeatedly stung, mind you) and into the nearest parking lot.  Sheer survival instinct had taken over.  I leapt out of the car and yanked my pants off, only to realize that when I had tried to “tuck the tag back into my pants” I had managed to “tuck the wasp into my underwear” and thus I yanked them off.  The wasp, amazingly, flew off … as my upper ass throbbed and my panic downgraded to only code orange.

It was at that precise moment I turned and realized I had pulled into the Waffle House parking lot (with glass windows on three sides of the building) … during Sunday brunch.  The diners sat, mesmerized and frozen with their forks suspended somewhere between their mouths and their plates, staring at the “naked from the waist down” girl.

The truth is, to those people, I was just the crazy exhibitionist who drove like a bat out of hell into the Waffle House parking lot in order to expose my cookie to families over brunch.  They didn’t see the wasp.  They had no idea at all.

I grabbed what little dignity I had left (pants) and threw myself back in the car.  Even after I returned home, there was no end to my suffering.  The wasp had stung me 7 times and I had a mild allergic reaction.  Sitting hurt.  Standing hurt.  The only thing that didn’t hurt was keeping a bag of strategically placed frozen peas stuffed down my pants while everyone laughed at me.

Some days, when I am feeling low, I think back to that day and imagine all the people who witnessed my dance with the wasp.  I imagine them sitting around the fire during the holiday season having a cup of hot chocolate, recounting family tales as families are known to do.  Years from now, they’ll probably still be passing down the legacy of the day they went out for waffles and got a lot more than they bargained for.  A complimentary side of impromptu striptease at high speed.

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One Response to “Waffle House: Exposed”

  1. C. Fraser Says:

    hehheh…now that’s funny! That’s a great tale…a keeper!

    I too am a member of ‘Team Pancake’!


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