Many, many years ago, I was living with two friends, we’ll refer to them as Housemate 1 and Housemate 2 (HM1 and HM2 forthwith) for this story.

We were living in the suburbs, about a 15 minute walk from the closest train station. HM1 and I would typically start work quite early, and we knew there was a certain train that was best for us. It wasn’t the express, but it took a different route into the city station of our choice, and was quieter, so not only would we get to sit down, but would also get into the city faster.

We also knew that HM2 took forever to get ready in the mornings, so if we didn’t beat him into the bathroom, we could potentially be late, if not rushed in the least. Not to mention that the bathroom was turned into some kind of lagoon after he was done with it.

So based on these factors, we’d typically be up early to be ready early and out the door early.

On this one, particular day, it just so happened to be winter. As we’re on our way into the city I make mention of these waffles I like to buy from time to time, but especially in the winter.

I say to HM1 “the main store often has a satellite operation at the top of the stairs we take out of the station, it’s glorious because on a cold morning you can smell the waffles as you ascend the stairs, then you can buy them if you want.”

And just like that, my fate was set, I knew I was going to be getting waffles.

We arrive at the station at the usual time, alight the train in the usual place, and head up the usual stairs. Unfortunately I couldn’t smell waffles, this was both confusing and saddening. I mention to HM1 that the waffle mothership run by a presumably French, though definitely short tempered, man was but a short walk away, and that my heart was set, I was getting those waffles.

Previously HM1 was keen for waffles, but the detour quelled his interest, so it was up to me to satisfy this desire by myself.

So I walked to the main waffle store and bought a box of (if my memory serves me correctly) six waffles. Then I walked to work.