A few years back, I made chocolate chip pancakes. The process to create them was normal and they tasted all right. They weren't bad and they weren't good; I ate them in peace. There were a few leftovers so I stashed them in the refrigerator for breakfast the next day.

Quickly flash to the next morning. It's 6 am. I was tired. I had to get to class early and barely had enough brain power to microwave the leftover pancakes from the day before. I don't know about you, but my brain doesn't begin to work properly until at least 8 am. After a minute on high, I took them out and proceeded to take a bite. The texture seemed off and they were ice cold, as if the microwave hadn't heated them at all. I put them back in for another minute. I was too sleepy to question this strange occurrence; it was 6 am, no high school student can be expected to reason at this obscene hour of the day. After the minute was up, I pulled them back out.

Still cold.

Confusion.

Was the microwave broken? I warmed up a piece of bread to test my theory. In 20 seconds, the bread was piping hot. Why wasn't my pancake?

I got angry, as one will when they want food and want it now. I stuck them back in the microwave for 5 minutes. I remember feeling very clever—I was going to beat the pancake at its own game.