Ficlets

“My Sweetest Agatha,”

They all begin that way. After that, everything crumbles. He would say things like:

“Perhaps next time you can stay for breakfast.” or “I’m not trying to butter you up, not really.” and one of his favorites was, “Is it hot in here, or is it just me?”

After I read the letters, I lost all of the visions I had of what a wonderful waffle iron he must have been. Not perfect, but hard working and respectable—always golden brown, and never burnt, you know? But now, I think he was probably just a cheap wedding gift. One of those that are so hard to clean you just make pancakes instead.