Piper couldn't believe it.
Her dad had asked her to make breakfast earlier, and Piper had asked what happened to the French chef.
"What will happen when the French chef is not there?" He had asked. Piper shrugged. She didn't really care much for cooking. Why do you even need to cook when you have self-filling plates and well-paid fancy French chefs?
"Piper, just try." Her dad had said.
"Alright dad, I'll try."
And here she was now.
In the sparkling clean kitchen, going through the drawers, trying to find the pancake mix.
"I can save the world but I can't find a box of pancake mix. Seriously?" Piper said to herself.
She finally found a red box with some pancakes on the front.
"Ugh, finally." She stared at the name.
"Ye-tet-buh k-c-resock?" Piper read out loud to herself.
That sounds weird. She thought to herself.
"Hey, dad! What does this say?" She said, walking out of the kitchen to where her dad was lounging on the couch.
"Betty Crockers, Pancake Mix." Her dad said.
"Oh, thanks." She went back to the kitchen and flipped the box around to look at instructions.
"Dad?"
"Yes, Piper?"
"Can you read this for me?"