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weaktwosWell, okay, I didn't gorge myself, but there is a lot of food.
All went well. The turkey was delicious, as was my stuffing and the rest of the goodies. My mother sauntered into my home about 12:30. She made some remark about my horoscope advising me to not lose track of important details. How did this come to fruition? Here's how:
The stuffing I made that couldn't fit in the turkey was placed in a pyrex dish with some extra juice and foil was placed on top. I proceeded to put it in the oven along side the huge pan o' turkey. Well, I forgot to take it out midway through the Turkey's cooking time. So, the coveted auxiliary stuffing became a precious, unedible brick.
Crapola. Better luck next year, sparky.
Other amusements:
First, a flashback:
When planning the menu with my mother, we discussed brussel sprouts and how I don't like them.
"Why don't you like them, again?" asked Mom.
"They smell funny, Ma." I replied.
"What do you mean by funny?"
"They just smell funky."
"Come on, what do you mean by funky."
"They smell like farts, Ma."
Mother chuckles. "Okay, but have you ever tasted them. They taste quite good."
"Mom, it's not on my list to indulge in vegetables that smell like farts."
Now back to present day, when Mother fixed the aforementioned vegetation of flatulence.
Mother, in the process of bringing the Foofel Sprouts to the table, spills a bit of the sauce from the sprouts on the floor. We wipe up the mess, yet a few minutes later, I see my kitten sniffing the area and engaging in the scraping, burying activity only seen when he is tidying up at the litter box.
I look at my my mother. I think my point was proven nicely. I did taste the sprouts, and decided that yes, while they didn't taste like fecal matter, I was less than impressed.
Next Issue: I'll call this section, "Hard of Hearing"
I had light classical music playing in the background while we dined.
My mother says, to me, "Do you have any other fugues?"
But that's not what I heard. I nearly choked. Apparently, I couldn't hear clearly over my teeth grinding on the turkey. I was way off on both consonants.
When I told my mother what I heard, she nearly died.
All told, a fine evening.
All went well. The turkey was delicious, as was my stuffing and the rest of the goodies. My mother sauntered into my home about 12:30. She made some remark about my horoscope advising me to not lose track of important details. How did this come to fruition? Here's how:
The stuffing I made that couldn't fit in the turkey was placed in a pyrex dish with some extra juice and foil was placed on top. I proceeded to put it in the oven along side the huge pan o' turkey. Well, I forgot to take it out midway through the Turkey's cooking time. So, the coveted auxiliary stuffing became a precious, unedible brick.
Crapola. Better luck next year, sparky.
Other amusements:
First, a flashback:
When planning the menu with my mother, we discussed brussel sprouts and how I don't like them.
"Why don't you like them, again?" asked Mom.
"They smell funny, Ma." I replied.
"What do you mean by funny?"
"They just smell funky."
"Come on, what do you mean by funky."
"They smell like farts, Ma."
Mother chuckles. "Okay, but have you ever tasted them. They taste quite good."
"Mom, it's not on my list to indulge in vegetables that smell like farts."
Now back to present day, when Mother fixed the aforementioned vegetation of flatulence.
Mother, in the process of bringing the Foofel Sprouts to the table, spills a bit of the sauce from the sprouts on the floor. We wipe up the mess, yet a few minutes later, I see my kitten sniffing the area and engaging in the scraping, burying activity only seen when he is tidying up at the litter box.
I look at my my mother. I think my point was proven nicely. I did taste the sprouts, and decided that yes, while they didn't taste like fecal matter, I was less than impressed.
Next Issue: I'll call this section, "Hard of Hearing"
I had light classical music playing in the background while we dined.
My mother says, to me, "Do you have any other fugues?"
But that's not what I heard. I nearly choked. Apparently, I couldn't hear clearly over my teeth grinding on the turkey. I was way off on both consonants.
When I told my mother what I heard, she nearly died.
All told, a fine evening.
