So I had this great idea for a new post today. But my camera battery was out, and by the time it was recharged, I had lost my natural light, and along with it, my motivation. Around that same time, my 17 year old came home with A DEAD CHICKEN from his anatomy class. Yes really. The feathers had been plucked, thank heaven, but that was it. It still had it's HEAD! Staring! And it's TALONS! Flopping!
The object was to boil the chicken for 6 hours and then REMOVE EVERY SINGLE FREAKING BONE, in order to build a skeleton of the chicken in class. I know!!! So you can only imagine what a fun time THAT was. It took us nearly an entire hour of picking the bones from that chicken, while switching back and forth between dry heaving and collapsing with laughter. He did NOT appreciate my rendition of "O Solo Mio" using the chicken's beak, but I couldn't help myself. The situation just begged for it. On the other hand, our two dogs were standing at attention the entire time, smelling the chicken and salivating. And let me tell you, the entire house smells like boiled chicken skin. And it's NOT a yummy chicken soup smell. It's a fatty, goosebumps, heavy smell. BLECH! I'm thinking I won't be eating anything except cheese sticks and Ruffles for a while. A long, long while. And I'll tell you right now that there's no WAY I'll be cooking a Thanksgiving turkey this year! No. Can. Do.
And at some point during all our fun, as we're squeezing teeny tiny digits out of teeny tiny talon skin, my son casually mentions we're doing all of this...... for extra credit. That's right - my son who is already an "A" student! OH. MY. GAAAAA....... So I give him a swift kick in the arse, he kisses me goodnight and RUNS, and there you have the play-by-play of our exciting evening. Aren't you so glad I shared? I know you are.
The object was to boil the chicken for 6 hours and then REMOVE EVERY SINGLE FREAKING BONE, in order to build a skeleton of the chicken in class. I know!!! So you can only imagine what a fun time THAT was. It took us nearly an entire hour of picking the bones from that chicken, while switching back and forth between dry heaving and collapsing with laughter. He did NOT appreciate my rendition of "O Solo Mio" using the chicken's beak, but I couldn't help myself. The situation just begged for it. On the other hand, our two dogs were standing at attention the entire time, smelling the chicken and salivating. And let me tell you, the entire house smells like boiled chicken skin. And it's NOT a yummy chicken soup smell. It's a fatty, goosebumps, heavy smell. BLECH! I'm thinking I won't be eating anything except cheese sticks and Ruffles for a while. A long, long while. And I'll tell you right now that there's no WAY I'll be cooking a Thanksgiving turkey this year! No. Can. Do.
And at some point during all our fun, as we're squeezing teeny tiny digits out of teeny tiny talon skin, my son casually mentions we're doing all of this...... for extra credit. That's right - my son who is already an "A" student! OH. MY. GAAAAA....... So I give him a swift kick in the arse, he kisses me goodnight and RUNS, and there you have the play-by-play of our exciting evening. Aren't you so glad I shared? I know you are.
So at midnight I made his usual PBJ sandwich, taped a note to the door not to forget Da Bones, and poured myself a nice diet Coke. Oh, the memories :)
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