Monday, August 5, 2013

I Wonder If He Takes His Shirt Off In The Bathroom

The #1 son is an opportunist. Especially where food is concerned. If it's not something he asked for, it's the most delectable goody that one can imagine. He must have it for himself. He may obtain it by wheedling, by shaming, by flat-out begging, or by clandestine means.

One day last week, The Pony asked for a Dairy Queen chicken basket. I know. Everybody goes to Dairy Queen for chicken, right? But being The Pony, his noggin is somewhat bigger than his muzzle. He thought he wanted it, but when it came time to strap on the ol' feedbag, he couldn't finish. The Pony is not one to founder himself on Dairy Queen chicken. He had a chicken tender and several fries left. I put it in Frig, still in its little Dairy Queen cardboard basket.

The #1 son must have been off his feed. Or else it was the day he was gone until the wee hours. Oh, wait! That has been almost every night this summer. So perhaps he did not see this tasty treat flaunting itself right on the front of the top shelf. Funny how he admitted to making a turkey sandwich with most-likely-expired Pepper Jack with no date at 10:30, but completely missed this fried tidbit.

The next morning, or as normal people call it, NOON, #1 was readying himself for a dash out the door on one of his many adventures. "I'm probably going to get lunch somewhere, but would you make me something now?"


"But I haven't had anything to eat!"

"Then get up at a normal time, and make it yourself. You'll be out on your own in a week. Might as well get used to it."

"But this could be your last chance to make your oldest son some breakfast!"

"Or not. Hey! Here's a chicken tender and some fries."

"Where? I want that!" He grabbed it out of my hand.

"Aren't you going to warm it in the microwave?"

"No. I'm in a hurry." He grabbed the chicken tender like it was an actual leg with a bone inside. He stuffed some cold fries in his mouth and dumped the basket in the trash. On his way around the kitchen counter to the door, he stopped. Came back. Leaned over into the wastebasket, grabbed a handful of fries, and stuffed them in his mouth.

"THE ECLAIR! You're George Costanza!"

"We don't need to speak of this ever again."

Heh, heh. That's what HE thinks.


Sioux said...

Was he doing the whole George Costanza thing? Did his head smell strange? Did he double dip? Did he make his girlfriend lick her own (cheap and deadly) graduation announcement envelopes?

Poor kid. Give him a break. He was giving you an opportunity to enjoy whipping up a breakfast one last time. You should have made him a made-to-order omelet, Belgian waffles, a rasher of bacon and freshly-squeezed orange juice.

He was tossing you a thoughtful tidbit and you snubbed him...What a kind kid you have.

Colleen Crank said...

Hmm, I'd watch that boy. He may bowl you and the rest of the family over if there is ever a fire in the kitchen.

Hillbilly Mom said...

I'm hoping he doesn't plan on calling himself Buck Naked, and engage in any amusement park activities that might put me in the hospital. But a career as a hand model might be nice. If he shows up at your door and asks to watch Breakfast at Tiffany's, don't give him grape juice.

Well, at least he would get caught if he tried to make his escape on a Rascal. Or tried to hide in a liquor store while wearing a Gore-Tex coat.