By Anjali Nayak
“Anjali, you need to stop lying about these hikes!”
Letting out laughs between each gasp for breath, Veronica Azimov accuses me of my weekly crime—diabolically forcing her onto another hike with somewhat correct information concerning the length or elevation. Faith Gonia and I simply tell her when it’s time to wake up.
But after the hike? That’s when my dream meal ensues. Driving to one of the ten IHOPs in a 20-mile radius from our home—we have indeed visited them all—the three of us salivate, just thinking of the chocolate chip pancakes and milkshakes awaiting us. Purring in my lap is Rhonda, my dog who has decided to join us for our weekly-summertime tradition. The IHOP knows we are on the way, IGOR blasts from Faith’s Subaru. Windows down. Obviously.
Every time I go, I order something new. Our conversation consists of random hypotheticals, teases, and long periods of eating. Sometimes the comfortable silence is the best part. And the orange juice.