Not so fried chicken.

I have to say I am taking a huge risk writing this- my mother would kill me for being thankless… but really? It was so funny I have to share.

My enormous-purple-tie-dyed-long-haired-Vietnam-veteran- Uncle Terry, who goes by the name Flipper for his size 15 feet… is in town. He is just as large a personality as the run-on sentence it takes to describe him. He’s loving and kind… and loud and annoying.

Love him to death… but sometimes… ya have to hide from him a little.

He made dinner for us tonight. Louisiana Buttermilk Fried Chicken. Mind you, he was born in Utah and lives in California. At any rate… he chopped up a bunch of my moms homegrown chickens… and fried them for all of us tonight.

He put a gigantic chicken breast on my plate… and admittedly- fried chicken is not my favorite thing in the world if it’s flavorless. Ugh. I’d rather not eat it… but I knew he’d worked all day… blah…blah…blah.

My sister, daughter and I sat outside while the rest of our family sat in at the dining room table. We started to eat and my sister looked up at me with a frown. I tried to cut into my chicken but it was sort of…gelatinous.

J- Um… My chicken is not so fried.

K- Mine is bleeding.

I- Mom I am not eating that. Not. I”m only eating this pesto. I don’t mind not having cake.

J- How are we going to get this giant thing in there without him seeing it?

I- Mom just throw it out in the field.

K- (laughing) NOooo the dog will get it.

I- Naaasty. Ohhh Kiki- do you have a trash can in your bedroom?

K- Are you crazy? I am not throwing that in the garbage in my bedroom!

J- Talk about taking the smell of rotten chicken to a whole new horrible level by soaking it in buttermilk and slightly frying it in grease… can you imagine? Ugh- no Issy- not an option. No food in your bedroom- remember?

I- Well then I don’t know what to tell you- I’m not helping eat that.

We were raised to smile politely and use our perfect manners. My dad would have killed us with his bare hands if we’d have embarrassed him in front of his staff or people in the restaurant. So we have our “That was lovely, thank you’s” down pat. We assured Uncle Flipper it was delicious and we were stuffed… and hid the evidence in the trash.

Don’t get me wrong… I love that he went to the trouble to make us dinner- complete with his sparkly purple sequin scarf & beret.

I just hope we all survive it.

2 thoughts on “Not so fried chicken.

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