Thursday, July 12, 2007

Don't thank me. Thank the Colonel.

I spent five minutes in utter confusion talking to my son the other night. He kept on asking his dad to make Kentucky Fried Chicken.

Fried Chicken is treated as a religious ritual in our house. The recipe Brian uses is from his beloved late Grandma Mae of Southern Illinois. Its sacred value comes in just below breastfeeding a newborn.

There are no buckets o'chicken in this house.

I finally realized that Ben thinks the proper term for homemade fried chicken IS Kentucky Fried Chicken. I haven't corrected him yet...I could use the laugh these days.

Jesus. Maybe he thinks I'm Betty Crocker?

4 comments:

Michael said...

That's pretty funny, EVI!

HAR said...

It is always the children who can pull us out of it :)

jodi said...

Now whenever I see your name a Betty Crocker image will come into my mind :-) That is a funny story.

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