This is a tale of love. Of resiliency. Of an ordinary chocolate chip pancake looking for her soulmate.
Stella thought to herself, “I hope my soulmate has a whipped cream topping,” as she logged into pancakedate.com.
She had no nuts & realized by virtue of that fact she was considered inferior.
As she searched, she had an idea: What if she went on a diet and became one of those sexy, french Crepes? Thin, delicate….
But it was not to be. With pancakedate.com’s new screening the word “crepe” immediately put her onto the…
…swingers pages. This was unacceptable. She was looking for a soul mate, not a fling. She applied a little syrup & kept perusing.
Suddenly, an IM window opened, beckoning her toward her destiny.
“I like what I see,” said Trevor. His tagline read “Rooty Tootie Fresh and Fruity.” He was a sexy, plump blueberry from Kalamazoo.
“Hi,” Stella typed nervously. She hadnt been in the dating scene since before she met Raul, a two-timing strawberry from Nantucket.
Trevor was a berry, just like Raul. She didn’t know if she wanted to go down that road again. Just as she was about to respond…
“Click here,” the virile blueberry propositioned. “Find juicy fruit like me all over StickySyrup.com.” Stella sighed wearily.
“Ugh.” She remembered the last time she naively clicked a link IM’d to her. It took a lot to get over the BerriesNCream.com fiasco.
Despite 27 syrup flavors of compatibility, PancakeDate.com was delivering rubbery sides of bacon. Then, a blink! A new…
..IM window opened. “Hey there,” it read. Stella searched her new suitor’s profile. It was Chad, a stick of butter from Toronto.
Mmmhm, butter. I haven’t had me some butter in a long, long time. “Hey darling!” Stella typed lustfully….
She wanted some friendly, socialist Canadian butter. “May I see your pecans?” Chad asked. Stella blushed, embarrassed to be nutless.
Just then, her IM box from Trevor blinked again. “barenuts.com,” he wrote. Stella ignored him as she hesitantly responded to Chad.
“My pecans are being shelled right now, but I’ll show you my bananas,” Stella typed into the box. She paused before hitting ENTER.
She felt a tinge of anxiety. What if Chad changed his mind? She wasn’t invested, but had already imagined them on a plate together.
Boldly, she hit ENTER & waited for Chad to respond. She could see he was typing – and for a long time. Was he writing her a poem?
Her anticipation was interrupted by another ding from Trevor. “brownsuga.com,” his IM read. Disgusted, she ALT-TAB’d to Chad’s box.
And lo and behold, Chad was indeed writing an ode to ! No one had ever written a poem to her before.
“Berries are red, Berries are blue. You look delicious. Would love to fill you.”
Chad was one savvy banana. He knew how to distance himself from other fruits. This poem was just one of his ways to be sweet.
An IM window didn’t convey his feelings, though. He was ripe to make Stella feel better than the day she was made.
Yet his poem went on: “Imagine me and you out on a date / I make you appealing while on a plate”
Chad’s prowess at poetry, and his appeal, were slipping. And at that moment another IM window popped before Stella…
“Hi there,” Brad wrote. “I’m a single white bag of powdered sugar from CT.” Stella curiously clicked on Brad’s profile.
She liked what she saw – skier, loved the White Stripes, White Men Can’t Jump. And Chad was playing her, lying about who he was.
“Nice poem,” she wrote Chad. “But I thought you said you were butter.” She continued. “Don’t ever pancakedate.com IM me again!”
Chad tried writing back that it was a Freudian slip, but the IM never went thru. Stella blocked him, turning her attention to Brad.
Brad was pretty much ignoring her. He was 29 minutes into his 30 minutes or its free guarantee, hungry and hopeful.
But Trevor? Trevor was relentless. He IM’d again. “scrambledeggs.com,” it read. Stella learned to ignore him. She waited for Brad.
Stella decided she couldn’t wait any longer. She typed, “Moguls?” It bounced back. “User not found,” it read. Brad’s trial expired.
Stella felt like giving up. All the suitors on pancakedate.com were either duds or too cheap to pay for a real subscription.
And then just as she was logging out an IM window appeared from Brad.
Stella slammed her laptop shut. “Screw pancakes!” she yelled. It was time to be bad. Time for the forbidden carb: the Waffle.
Oh, waffles. The last time she had indulged in such sinful pleasure was when she went to the Waffle Bar on Armitage. So much syrup.
But it was time to go back. So she got dolled up, spread some apple compote on & headed out. The only problem? Raul was a regular.
She wondered where Chips was, it had been a while since she had seen her. As she picked up the phone to call her, it rang….
She answered. “Hello?” “Uh, hi, Stella. I’m really sorry to call you out of the blue. It’s me, Trevor.” He cleared his throat.
As soon as he finished, the call waiting beeped….it read “Raul: Don’t Pick up!”; Stella of course, did….””Raul..?”
“Behbeh, I meece you,” said Raul in his thick accent. Stella didn’t know what to say. She was flattered but had Trevor on hold.
But hearing Raul’s voice melted the apple butter off of her. Trevor could wait. “Raul…why are you calling me? Where is Mila?”
“Meela has, how you say, leaf trimming,” Raul said. Mila was his latest fling – a lean, orange carrot with long, green leaves.
“Lovely!” she said. But Raul had other thoughts..He needed to get Stella alone. He had unresolved issues. Not so lovely issues…
Stella agreed to see him because her heart needed it. Raul understood that this was his one chance to finally kill her.
Stella clicked back to Trevor, intending to say she was going to see her ex. But Trevor said something so sweet, she reconsidered.
“From the moment I laid eyes on you, I could tell I fit you,” he said. Stella, being the pancake to his blueberry, blushed.
Meanwhile, Raul growing with impatience hired the biggest fork he could find to do the dirty deed he had planned out for so long…
She missed Trevor but he was too busy with work to notice her back then. “Do you want to go for some whipped cream?” she asked.
Trevor was happy Stella didn’t push him away after all these years. “Allons-y!” He whisked her away to Paris on his private jet.
Meanwhile, the fork arrived at Stella’s house. Too late. She was gone. Raul was furious. He sold the fork to a pawn shop for $3.22.
Stella was gazing out at the Atlantic when Trevor returned with a jug of rum syrup. “So, what was with all of those awful links?”
“What links?” he asked. “The ones you sent me on pancakedate.com,” she responded. “I haven’t been on that site in years,” he said.
At which point it all became clearer that saving passwords and then selling a computer…
…wasn’t so smart. “I knew I should have sold my Mac to that Indian spice,” said Trevor. The plane started its descent.
As the plane landed, the flight attendant, a bottle of grand marnier, welcomed them to Paris. Trevor nuzzled in Stella’s nook.
Blueberries and a pancake – they really fit together. Trevor and Stella went on to live a fruitful life together
Man. I’m so happy for Trevor! The pervy link sender (we all know it was really him) from Kalamazoo got his pancake!
I’ll be honest, when I tweeted the first line of this story, I thought it might end up being a dud. But I am happy to say I was completely wrong. It is absolutely amazing. So funny. So awesome.
Thanks @nella22 for supplying the photo. And thanks so much to all the writers. We had 13 (including me). Special shout out to new writers @damnfineAD, @swanieson, @marzlet and @lesliestaysup. And to those who’ve written before – @foiledcupcakes, @nella22, @thatgirlmari, @FeliciaCago, @jimmydoestea, @hwtibbs @jsetlak and @rickmurray – you continue to crack me up. Trevor and Stella would thank you too, but they’re busy frolicking abroad.
By the way, Jake (jsetlak) sent me this tweet that makes me laugh every time I read it, so I wanted to share:
“I think “ALT-TAB’d to Chad’s box” needs to become a colloquialism for some weird online sex act.”