February 8, 2012
Tuesday was a three class day.
A long day.
A very long day.
And Mer was coming over for dinner.
In an effort to ensure that we ate before midnight, I asked Stephen to put the chicken in the oven, along with the potatoes.
Hoping that if the timing was right by the time Mer, Em and I walked through the front door, everything would be ready.
The timing was fine.
The chef was a little off.
As I was removing my boots Stephen was standing in the hallway, wearing my apron telling me there was something wrong with the chicken, it was a bad chicken, we were scammed and he'd have to get something else for supper because the chicken was a bad chicken.
Bad chicken!
After looking at the chicken, which in spite of my timing efforts was still not fully cooked, I was able to ascertain how come the chicken was bad.
It was upside down.
So instead of cutting off slices of juicy chicken breast, Stephen was hacking off pieces of chicken butt.
We managed to salvage enough chicken to feed the kidlets and Stephen and I noshed on leftover meatloaf.
Thank God for leftovers!
As per usual, when the five of us get together the meal descends into chaos.
Mer on her one day off, tired, hungry, wired, Keith feeding on her being wired, Em sitting at the other end of the table from Keith wondering in what universe is she actually related to these people, Stephen getting increasingly agitated with the rising decibel level and me just happy to spending time with all my little chicks, no matter how short lived it'll be.
I learned a valuable lesson this weekend.
Refried pinto beans with chilis, the necessary glue that hold together the well made taco are tasty and delicious.
Homemade baked beans are also tasty and delicious,
And not the best Monday lunch time meal to follow Sunday tacos with refried beans.
I have been reduced to a walking gas production center.
A volatile substance.
A potentially lethal effluvium following me at every juncture.
A veritable miasma wafting about me like dirt on PigPen.
Flatulence becoming my calling card.
Eliminating the need to write "Dawne wuz here"
And nothing, other than the gas of course, is making any effort to evacuate the premises.
Leaving me to conclude that perhaps my mother was right: academics are intelligent people with no common sense.
Because there can be no other explanation for my consumption of two gas causing foods in under twenty four hours.
Making me, literally, a wind bag.
Instead of just figuratively.
Title Lyric: Break Like the Wind by Spinal Tap
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