Oliver enjoys chicken drumsticks for lunch sometimes, so I thought I’d oblige him this week. I marinated some in a little olive oil, garlic, lemon juice, salt, pepper, thyme and oregano and put them in the fridge to get all delicious before cooking the next day. Which was last night. He saw them in the Ziploc baggie on the counter before turning in, and gave me a huge grin, already dreaming about his lunch the next day.
I put them in the oven at 375 degrees for 35 minutes.
And then Martin was home for the evening, and we haven’t spent a lot of time talking lately, so I poured him a glass of wine… and I was wearing a skirt… and he was looking all sexy and whatnot…and we drank some more wine… and we wandered into another room…
And so sometime around 10:30 last night, I thought, Hmmm, it smells weird in here and I went to heat up something for us to eat, and noticed the oven was still on.
Holy balls, the oven is still on!!
And inside was the crispiest chicken you’ve ever seen in your life. Like, if you dropped on on the floor, it would shatter like glass.
This is what wayward behaviour will get you: 100% inedible chicken
This morning, Oliver sauntered into the kitchen for his breakfast, and right away inquired about his lunch, and I had to break the bad news to him.
Me: Um, Boo? Listen… I burned the chicken last night.
He: *mouth drops open and eyes get wide* Wot??
Me: *puts hand over mouth to hide smirk* I know. I’m really sorry about that – I didn’t mean to, of course. I just, um… didn’t hear the timer last night. I don’t know what happened.
He: *eyebrows high* But HOW come you didn’t hear it? Why?!
Me: Well, I wasn’t in the kitchen I guess, when the timer buzzed, so… I… I’m sorry, Oliver. Would you like a ham sandwich, or chicken salad, maybe?
He: *Pouts* Awww… c’mon.
Me: *stifles guilty laughter* I’m really sorry, Boo.
He: *frowns exasperated* Tsk… you shouldn’t leave the kitchen when you’re cooking, you know.
Me: I know. You’re right. I’m sorry. *gets busy rifling through cupboards for lunch things*
He: Anyway, I don’t know why you had to go to the TV room – there’s a TV in here too.
Me: Yes. Well. *shuffle, shuffle*
He: And daddy left his pants on the floor in there again. *stabs at his waffle*
Me: *bites lip* What’s that? Cookie, you say?! Here you go! *throws cookies into lunchbox* I’ll just get your clothes for school now. *shuffle, shuffle*
Yeah. So. That’s how you ruin next-day’s lunch and crush your child’s dreams in just a few easy steps.
Any questions?
What a nice story to tell. I love it. When the kids get bigger they will understand the chicken story.
Oh Desi! That made me giggle! My son inquired recently if my ankle (which I had sprained) was hurting in the night because he heard me going “ooh, ooh, ooh.” Ahem.
Oh, MY! There must be something in the air. We didn’t (ahem) burn the chicken, but my daughter stumbled out of her room yesterday morning, hands on her little hips: “Mum, if you need to tell daddy you love him at nighttime, can you do it in a QUIET voice? If you’re in the same room, you DON’T NEED TO YELL.” Noted. *snickers*
That was good for a giggle. I was just wondering how my parents ever made 4 of us with our bedrooms right next to theirs.
I don’t recall a thing but I am already worried that Emily might be wakeful at night and it seriously stressful.
Does everybody end up in the laundry room to avoid this lurking feeling?
If it wasn’t for the fact we have absurd amounts of laundry, it might even look suspicious to a 9 year old but we are well covered for the time being but really.
Id
“Momma and Poppa are burnin’ chicken”
that is my new saying for what you were up to
atta girl
you should be so proud of yourself
“Burning the meringue” has just become my new favourite expression. 😉
Note to self: pick up clothes strewn about before retiring for the evening. Geez.
I know – those days are coming… ack!!
This is awesome!!! My mother used to always say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. When we were older she would tell us the story about how my dad loves lemon meringue pie. She made him the pie one night when they first started dating and put it in the oven for the meringue to brown. She ended up having to make three meringues that night because they got so caught up in “making out” that she burnt the meringue. So now we refer to “making out” as “burning the meringue”.
Thanks for the great post!
I am scandalized.
Let’s get it on…oh wait you did. Fab.
oh, daddy! HA! great laugh. i can’t wait until they grow up and put a more grownup perspective on things…EEEEEWWWWWWWWW….MMMMMOOOOOMMMMM!!!!! 🙂
Daddy left his pants in there again?!? AMAZING