Farmer H has gone to pick up the #1 son from Missouri Boys State. Actually, he will pick up #1 tomorrow, after a group assembly of sorts. But he's gone tonight, because it's a long drive to be getting there by 8:00 a.m.
The Pony and I are holding down the Mansion. Without the King of the Mansion to cook for, I promised The Pony Pizza Hut. He enjoys the $10 Dinner Box. Not so much the pizza as the breadsticks and cinnasticks. We agreed to wait past lunch time, after dispatching Farmer H around 2:00, and get our pizza for lupper. That's the meal between lunch and supper.
Pity the poor Pony. We got home, and he started distributing the foodstuffs while I was adding ice to my 44 oz. Diet Coke. I looked at his plate. "Oh. They're putting garlic butter in there now, too?" Because normally, the dinner box comes with marinara sauce for the breadsticks, and icing for the cinnasticks.
"No. Why would they do that? It's the icing."
"Uh, no. It says right there: Garlic Butter."
"But it's the same container as the icing."
"Look. Feel it. It's hot, and you can see the butter sloshing around. That ain't icing!"
"Awww!"
But because I'm the bestest Hillbilly Mom ever, I yanked open Frig and started rummaging through the door shelves. Aha! A container of Pillsbury Classic Vanilla, leftovers from the famous Easter Oreo Cake. The Pony was over the moon with excitement. A plethora of icing.
"Want me to put some of this in a little plastic cup for you?"
"No. That's all right. Just give me a spoon."
The Pony. Always willing to make lemonade out of life's lemons. Or icing out of Pizza Hut's garlic butter.
2 comments:
Aaah, a can of frosting. A meal fit for a king, The Pony or a menopausal sugarholic.
Sioux,
The Pony was quite insistent on getting a spoon, not a pre-filled plastic cup of frosting. Though he is not menopausal...THAT I KNOW OF.
The mere thought of that tub of Classic Vanilla makes me retch. But if we're talkin' CHOCOLATE, I'm all in.
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