I was just making pancakes and broccoli for dinner (Hey now, single people can eat what they want.) when a drip of batter became a tiny pancake. "Tiny pancake!" I exclaimed as I carefully flipped it over. Instantly, I wished for Ant. He would be equally concerned about it and we would say "tiny pancake" to each other in silly voices an unnecessary number of times. He would put it on a plate with a tiny pat of butter and syrup and eat it with a knife and fork. Did I ever tell you that he shared my bizarre love of drinking out of small vases? In this divorce, how come I didn't get Ant? He's clearly my kid.
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