“
It's crazy that her tester pancake turned out to be perfect," I finally said.
"Her what?" Cat chuckled.
"You know, the tester pancake," I explained, hoping that the preceding glasses of wine wouldn't make this analogy impossible to follow. "Like, when you're making pancakes, you don't just start off by dumping all the pancake batter onto the griddle and assuming everything will be okay. You have to start with one and then test it out to see--- is the griddle hot enough? Is the batter not too thick or not too loose? Does the butter melt at the right sizzle? Does the batter have the right ratio of blueberries---"
"You mean chocolate chips---" she interjected.
"I mean blueberries for my fictional theoretical pancakes, thank you very much. Anyway," I said, clearing my throat, "you need the tester pancake to help you adjust. Not to mention you might spend years refining your pancake recipe to get to the one you want."
"But sometimes the tester just works," Cat argued wholeheartedly.
Such a hidden sap. It made no sense, since she---like me--- had essentially been single since college. But I knew she was a softie beneath her badass consulting and math-brain exterior.
"Besides," she said, "they always say when you know, you know.
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