A Grand Slam

Welcome to a new feature here on oh em gee, it's a blog: Awkward Guests. I know I'm not the only person that awkward things happen to, so consider this an open invitation to submit your own stories of awkwardness!

I can't promise you fame or fortune, or really even more than a handful of readers, but I can promise some iron-clad anonymity, if that's what you're looking for.

Today, I present you with a blog post written by my dear friend, Kyle K. You'll note that Kyle is in graduate school, and therefore, uses much bigger words than I do. Words that Firefox does not think are words, even. But I Googled them, so I'm pretty sure he's not just bluffing.

Without further ado...

On the occasional day I wake up before noon, my morning isn't complete without three things:

1. Reading HuffPost

2. Spending the time between links making fun of Joe Scarborough

3. Breakfast

Having completed 1) and 2), I opened the fridge and stared into it for a few minutes to see if anything popped out at me. That's when the best news possible (on MSNBC at least) came from the TV: Denny's was giving away free breakfast! I didn't have to eat mealy apples or whole wheat bagels or anything!

So I packed up the newspaper and drove to the nearest Denny's - there was a line out the door - and already this wasn't looking good. I deplaned and stood in line anyway, and that's where I met Kev. Kev told me all about how he had been waiting about 20 minutes out in the cold, but it was all worth it, because he was getting two free eggs, two free pancakes, two free sausage links, a free slice of bacon, and didnt have to leave a tip.

Lucky for my dignity and toes, I was lazier than I was hungry, and so took my Detroit News and headed home. Kev could stand in line all he wanted; I wasn't letting myself get caught in that honeypot. I decided to make my own special breakfast.

Arriving back home, I busted out some utensils, and proceeded to start down the path of tasty treats. That's when Eddie, the latest addition to this morning's little dramatis personae, came a-knocking.

Leaving my freshly poured pancakes to brown, I answered the door, and was leid by a dozen questions regarding the exterior of the house, with "I'm not tryin' to sell you nothin'" as the colorful flower that hides the knot.

Glassine thoughts of new gutters and energy-efficient windows shattered as I caught a whif of burning pancakes. Eddie invited himself in as I rushed back to the stove. In a valiant effort to save the blackening biscuits, I burned my finger.

This all happened in two or three fluid moments - Eddie had not stopped talking yet - but in a conniptive flailing of betrayal at the pan which had promised me breakfast and rewarded my trust with a burn, I batted one of the pancakes at Eddie, who narrowly avoided the doughy projectile by the same margin that I narrowly avoided a lawsuit.

Laying at his feet, between him and the door, the pancake served as a nice microcosm of the larger obstacle breakfast had posed all morning. Merciful Eddie left the house and me to my failure with an uncharacteristic silence. Standing in pain amid the smoldering ruin of Bisquick and Teflon, I reflected that things did not look so bad. Sure, Denny's had failed me, Kev and Eddie were no help, and it looked like mealy apples were in my future, but - you know what? - I hit that pancake out of the park.