25 December 2012
615
R. Linda:
MERRY CHRISTMAS . . . sorta.
Ok -- so who burns the turkey on Christmas and lives to see New Year? Yeah, well, it was one of those blurry episodes of having imbibed maybe a tad too much on Christmas Eve that when it came time to roast the turkey, it somehow got stuffed by three people (not one), and somehow two of those people managed to throw it in the oven and forget about it. YEE-AH.
We all know that some OLD people like heating the oven a hundred degrees more than a recipe calls for to get the oven to heat quicker, then they turn it down to the right temp IF they remember and set the TIMER, but in this case, the one person who turned the oven to MAXIMUM ROAST forgot he did that and the two ladies who threw the turkey in the maximum overheated oven, FORGOT to put the timer on, nor check the temp. Usually, a turkey that weighs 18 to 20 pounds STUFFED takes about 5 to 5 1/2 hours. But not if the oven is set on MAXIMUM STRENGTH TO HELL HEAT, then it cooks a whole lot faster and . . . AND this is important . . . it doesn't turn that golden brown one is so fond of admiring, it turns CHARCOAL BLACK the colour one admires if it be a log in the fireplace. YUP.
After throwing up the "sashes" of every single window in the house to clear out the black smoke, a lot of coughing and leaning out the windows to catch a breath of fresh air, we managed between me Da and I to get the charred remains of the day out of the oven. We heaved it out the back door and into the snow, where it SIZZLED FOR TWO FREAKING HOURS!
This whole episode reduced US to eating . . . WAIT FOR IT . . . Christmas CHICKEN! I want to know who eats CHICKEN on CHRISTMAS? No, don't tell me I know who does. My family does. Yes, we do. We'd have it no other way; like Guido said, "I dunt wan no stinkin' charred turkey gimme da chickin'." Oh yeah.
You ask me how could this happen? I'LL TELL YA HOW IT HAPPENED! The night before, the house was decorated as if we were having a party for a horde of people. Usually, there is a tree and a wreath on the door, and one of the fireplaces might have a garland. But this year, me Da (you remember him, the man of the monkey pie? Yeah, him.), be going through a second childhood he be. He talked about going to someplace as a kid where every fireplace was decked out in holly and the table was set with all manner of glittery Christmas things and how it was so magical and yadda, yadda, yadda.
I, personally, paid no attention UNTIL three days ago when he borrowed me motor and came back with all manner of Christmas decorations, including ANOTHER CHRISTMAS TREE! We have not one, but TWO Christmas trees, one in the living room and one in the long hallway, which looked to him "like it needs sumting," which was a decorated Christmas tree! Add to that every fireplace in my abode is now sporting garland and not just evergreen garland, but that tinselled, glitter stuff with . . . LIGHTS! Every door of the house has a wreath, and every window has a candle in it, "just like bein' back home." Yes indeed.
So, with the house overloaded with decorations (of which I have no clue where I am storing all of it after the holiday), Mam joined in by baking every Christmas food goody she could think of. We have cookies we could feed the masses with, homemade divinity, small tarts, mini cakes with charms hidden inside, and all manner of cheese balls. I mean, you name it, if they have it in Ireland, we have it here. Oi!
This decorating and food-making meant that Christmas Eve would be something special. That's how the two of them advertised it. The kiddos got into the spirit of it, and even Tonya was muttering about what to wear, "I think it should be glitzy and blingy," and I stood in the middle of all this, thinking they had lost what was left of their minds -- ALL OF THEM!
Christmas Eve was filled with not magic but people, lots and lots of people. People I didn't know mostly; these were people we had met in town when Da stopped at the local cafe for coffee and PIE. As if we didn't have enough sugary treats at home. But wait! Mam couldn't let him outdo her. No, no, she invited two people she met while waiting in line at the supermarket in town. Yup, she did. They are Bill and Bob, respectively. Da invited Joe and Mary, the cafe owners whom he stops in every chance he gets for homemade American diner PIE, their son Rodney, and Rodney's wife Sugar (yes, that's her name). Then there was Nancy and another Bob (regs at the cafe), and the best for last, my nemesis PERCY THE POLICEMAN. Oh yeah, fun.
Imagine my surprise when, at 7 sharp, the doorbell rang, and Da raced me to the door. I was like, WTF? He opens it with a flourish and colossal smile, greeting first Bill and Bob. The smile faded because he had no clue who these two were, but Mam, on seeing them, raced herself to the door to greet them like she'd known them for years! I tell ya. Both were dressed rather flamboyantly, both wearing colourful holiday sweater vests and one wearing antlers on his head, the other a Santa hat. I was like, who are these people? But she was acting like she knew them, so I said notta thing, and no sooner had she led them into the living room, offering them some of Da's famous Irish homemade NOG, a knock on the door happened. I opened it, and there was Joe and Mary, followed by Rodney ("You can call me Rod") and "My name is Sugar, sugar, heeheee." Oh boy.
I started to move in the room after the "crowd" when the doorbell sounded, and I went back to let in Nancy "Hiya, I'm the other BOB, hahaha," and just as I went to take a sip of me nog there was a heavy knocking and as I turned to go get it, still in wonder as to who all the people were, Tonya beat me to it and I hear behind me, "Hello officer, what did he do now?" AND I FREAKING KNEW WHO IT WAS! "Oh, no, Mrs. O, he hasn't done anything; your father-in-law invited me for Christmas Eve," and in came PERCY.
My Da invited him, huh? Well, this was just great. My question to self was this: Don't these people have their own families to visit on Christmas Eve? Well, the answer to that was nah, not really. They were spending Christmas Day with those people, but lucky us, we had them for the night before. Oh, for joy!
So, right away, I did some serious self-medicating. I started drinking and was told many a time that night, "Make my Christmas Eve, Gabe, go out and start that car up so I can arrest you for DUI." OH HA HA! Gees, the man, loves to make me miserable, even on a holiday.
I was hell-bent on trying to be on the outer edge of all the groupings, but Ms. Sugar ("Y'all havin' a good time sugar? You look like you don't know a soul here, heheee,") would put her arm in mine and lead me around introducing me several times to the same people like I had short term memory deficit. The unfortunate was I knew HALF the people in the room too well to want to remember them, but that didn't stop her from introducing her to my very own grey-haired, apple-cheeked little Mam on several turns about the room. Mam was amused. Me? Not so much
All this craziness of the buxom bubble-headed blond taking me under her wing (it should be her left breast; it was so huge, so to speak) was driving yours truly to drinking most of the whisky-laced eggnog all by his lonesome. And there was a punchbowl full. Me Da was equally drinking because he was surprised to find out Bob and Bill were married partners, and his Catholic sensibilities were struggling to come out, but his Irish politeness luckily had hold of his tongue. Yeah, Mam, be the liberal in the family. Nancy and "the other Bob" were travel-holics. Not in the travel, tour, holiday, vacation sense; no, he was a trucker, and Nance ("I feel you know me well enough for ya to call me Nance") accompanied him on his pickups around the country and Bob's your trucker, I mean uncle, and authorities on travel. OK!
It took me most of the evening before I understood how he managed to travel all over the U.S.A. every month. I was impressed up to the part about, "We just hadda stop at the Iowa 80, I tell ya, it was filled with truck displays an' has the best fast food in the country! Itz a good place ta peeple watch, and oh gosh, it has a huge parkin' lot and the truck museum, whoo-ee the best in the nation!"
And I asked, "You like this place? Why?"
"WELL, HELL, it's a trucker's paradise there, boy!" Bob nearly shouted like I was some kind of backward to his southern senses of what's a great place to get a burger. Yeah, he be from Arkansas and the other one, Sugar, she's from Tupelo, Mississippi and by the by, she said, "An ya'll don't ask me now . . . no, don't ya dare ask me how ta speel Mississippi, because even tho ah grew up there, ah still can't speel it without messin' up on how many 's's there are in it, heheee." OK.
I was safe in not asking if Nance and Bob had ever travelled abroad.
Then there was Joe and Mary, the food critics who tasted everything on the table because as she squinted her eyes and leaned toward me nibbling on a cookie (very much like a mouse would), "We are in the food business," was the excuse to sample EVERYTHING. And Rodney, a quiet guy, I thought, turns out not so quiet and all about The Walking Dead, and the zombie apocalypse. "How did we survive 12/21? Gosh, we lucked out," he said to me, slapping his thigh in emphasis, as I started to pour him a punch glass of nog refill. I left him for the kitchen and got me a water glass to pour nog into, and that is when the steady drinking started.
I noticed, after trying vainly to extract herself from Mary and Joe's telling Tonya how to make what she was serving better, that my wife, too, had covertly put her punch glass in the sink and was drinking out of a water glass as well. Shortly after, Mam had found the water glasses and had, as if in harmony, poured herself a healthy water glass of nog and, without coming up for a breath, drank it straight down after a longgg conversation (one-sided and not me Mam either, she was busy saying in response, "oh my, is that a fact?" A LOT) with Sugar telling her how wonderful Viagra is but the side effects, "Well, sometimes Rodney can't hear me, hiz vision gits blurry, and he's in the baffroom A LOT, I know we should call the doctor about that, but well . . . heheee . . . we are havin' too much fun if ya know what I mean . . . heheee." YEE-AH.
So somewhere in this mess, me Da makes an announcement it be time for the Irish Swap. I was like, the Irish what? Are we swapping wives? What is he doing NOW? Well, it was a Yankee Swap it was. Yes, indeed, those of us who had no clue about the party (me and Tonya) were not included because, as Da said, "You two have no sense of humour, sos I didn't include yas." And thank the saints, he didn't.
I won't go through the painful details of who opened what ridiculous gift, but I'll give you two that may amuse you. Sugar and Rodney wanted to get easy things, but they didn't want people to guess what they were, so they bought things to weigh down the easy gift guess. First up, Percy meanders over and picks one of the weighted gift bags (yes, R. Linda, they hadn't the compunction to wrap them), and he opens up his bag, and I had all I could do to keep from laughing. It was a Dunkin' Donuts card (so appropriate), but the other "gift," the weighty one, was a box enema. Yes, indeed! This was bought by Sugar, who told him he could return the enema. I want to know just how that works. LMAO. I can just see it, Percy at the drugstore telling the clerk he wanted to return the enema. I thought the Dunk's card, coupled with the enema, was a stroke of genius on Sugar's part. Who'd a thunk it, huh?
Then Nance picked up another gift baggy. She pulled out a gift card to Target, and the weighted extra was a box of condoms. The expression on her face was priceless. She held the box away from her like they were used. "Feels like nothing," she read off the side, not realising she was reading aloud. My wife left the room because she couldn't contain the laughter. But poor Nance, was she too going to the same drugstore to return the condoms? I wanted to be there if either of them did.
By the end of the night, there was Tonya, Mam, and meself in one corner and everyone else, including me 'holding court' Da, on the other side of the room. Tonya went to bed before everyone else because it was 1 a.m., and no one was leaving. Mam left shortly after, and I wanted so bad to throw them all out, but they were Da's guests, so bolstered by the drink, I wished them a Merry Christmas and took meself to bed.
At 3 a.m., I could still hear Sugar heheee-ing and Percy's booming laughter downstairs. Me Da has to be stopped. Yes, he does. I told Tonya that in the wee hours, we heard the door close and everyone FINALLY leaving. It was 5 a.m., and the boyos would be up at the crack of dawn!
Talk about hungover, talk about excited wee ones jumping around, talk about blinding sun-hurting smarting eyes, old people mumbling, "Wot time is it?" and doors slamming and heads bursting with pain, and a completely empty punchbowl and liquor bottles. Yeah, Merry Freaking Christmas and THANKS, DA, for last evening's entertainment and hangover -- NOT!
That is why a perfectly sumptuous Christmas turkey becomes a measly Christmas CHICKEN! It was the old man who turned the oven heat to the hell setting; it was he who started to stuff the turkey, and then me Mam pushed him out of the way because he was "sloppin' da stuffin' all over da counter," followed by an interruption from Guido about pouring another glass of orange juice, and that is when Tonya seeing the bird half stuffed finished the job just as Mam came back and then because the bird was heavy, they both acting like martyrs, together they threw the bird in the oven and both of their attention was taken by the cat climbing the hallway Christmas tree for a lark. That left bird in the hotter-than-hell oven, with no timer going, as they cleaned up the mess in the hallway and chased Mr. Kits around, trying to throw his malicious arse outside. As for me, I was in the living room, covertly burning discarded wrapping paper in the fireplace (something I'm not supposed to do because of certain chemicals in wrapping paper), and the boyos had a slew of toys they were busy with.
Only the setter seemed to know something was amiss. She'd sit there sniffing the air like there was a fire someplace. I thought she was telling me she knew what I had done with the wrapping paper, but nah, that wasn't it. Yeah, well, the fire was not in the fireplace; it was in the oven. But her doggy arse gave no hint of it. Instead, she whined to go out, which I got up and let her when I realised the air was rather dark and sooty. Yee-ah, and you can guess the rest.
So how does Christmas chicken taste? NO WAY AS GOOD AS CHRISTMAS TURKEY!
Merry Christmas! Bah, humbug!
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
R. Linda:
MERRY CHRISTMAS . . . sorta.
Ok -- so who burns the turkey on Christmas and lives to see New Year? Yeah, well, it was one of those blurry episodes of having imbibed maybe a tad too much on Christmas Eve that when it came time to roast the turkey, it somehow got stuffed by three people (not one), and somehow two of those people managed to throw it in the oven and forget about it. YEE-AH.
We all know that some OLD people like heating the oven a hundred degrees more than a recipe calls for to get the oven to heat quicker, then they turn it down to the right temp IF they remember and set the TIMER, but in this case, the one person who turned the oven to MAXIMUM ROAST forgot he did that and the two ladies who threw the turkey in the maximum overheated oven, FORGOT to put the timer on, nor check the temp. Usually, a turkey that weighs 18 to 20 pounds STUFFED takes about 5 to 5 1/2 hours. But not if the oven is set on MAXIMUM STRENGTH TO HELL HEAT, then it cooks a whole lot faster and . . . AND this is important . . . it doesn't turn that golden brown one is so fond of admiring, it turns CHARCOAL BLACK the colour one admires if it be a log in the fireplace. YUP.
After throwing up the "sashes" of every single window in the house to clear out the black smoke, a lot of coughing and leaning out the windows to catch a breath of fresh air, we managed between me Da and I to get the charred remains of the day out of the oven. We heaved it out the back door and into the snow, where it SIZZLED FOR TWO FREAKING HOURS!
This whole episode reduced US to eating . . . WAIT FOR IT . . . Christmas CHICKEN! I want to know who eats CHICKEN on CHRISTMAS? No, don't tell me I know who does. My family does. Yes, we do. We'd have it no other way; like Guido said, "I dunt wan no stinkin' charred turkey gimme da chickin'." Oh yeah.
You ask me how could this happen? I'LL TELL YA HOW IT HAPPENED! The night before, the house was decorated as if we were having a party for a horde of people. Usually, there is a tree and a wreath on the door, and one of the fireplaces might have a garland. But this year, me Da (you remember him, the man of the monkey pie? Yeah, him.), be going through a second childhood he be. He talked about going to someplace as a kid where every fireplace was decked out in holly and the table was set with all manner of glittery Christmas things and how it was so magical and yadda, yadda, yadda.
I, personally, paid no attention UNTIL three days ago when he borrowed me motor and came back with all manner of Christmas decorations, including ANOTHER CHRISTMAS TREE! We have not one, but TWO Christmas trees, one in the living room and one in the long hallway, which looked to him "like it needs sumting," which was a decorated Christmas tree! Add to that every fireplace in my abode is now sporting garland and not just evergreen garland, but that tinselled, glitter stuff with . . . LIGHTS! Every door of the house has a wreath, and every window has a candle in it, "just like bein' back home." Yes indeed.
So, with the house overloaded with decorations (of which I have no clue where I am storing all of it after the holiday), Mam joined in by baking every Christmas food goody she could think of. We have cookies we could feed the masses with, homemade divinity, small tarts, mini cakes with charms hidden inside, and all manner of cheese balls. I mean, you name it, if they have it in Ireland, we have it here. Oi!
This decorating and food-making meant that Christmas Eve would be something special. That's how the two of them advertised it. The kiddos got into the spirit of it, and even Tonya was muttering about what to wear, "I think it should be glitzy and blingy," and I stood in the middle of all this, thinking they had lost what was left of their minds -- ALL OF THEM!
Christmas Eve was filled with not magic but people, lots and lots of people. People I didn't know mostly; these were people we had met in town when Da stopped at the local cafe for coffee and PIE. As if we didn't have enough sugary treats at home. But wait! Mam couldn't let him outdo her. No, no, she invited two people she met while waiting in line at the supermarket in town. Yup, she did. They are Bill and Bob, respectively. Da invited Joe and Mary, the cafe owners whom he stops in every chance he gets for homemade American diner PIE, their son Rodney, and Rodney's wife Sugar (yes, that's her name). Then there was Nancy and another Bob (regs at the cafe), and the best for last, my nemesis PERCY THE POLICEMAN. Oh yeah, fun.
Imagine my surprise when, at 7 sharp, the doorbell rang, and Da raced me to the door. I was like, WTF? He opens it with a flourish and colossal smile, greeting first Bill and Bob. The smile faded because he had no clue who these two were, but Mam, on seeing them, raced herself to the door to greet them like she'd known them for years! I tell ya. Both were dressed rather flamboyantly, both wearing colourful holiday sweater vests and one wearing antlers on his head, the other a Santa hat. I was like, who are these people? But she was acting like she knew them, so I said notta thing, and no sooner had she led them into the living room, offering them some of Da's famous Irish homemade NOG, a knock on the door happened. I opened it, and there was Joe and Mary, followed by Rodney ("You can call me Rod") and "My name is Sugar, sugar, heeheee." Oh boy.
I started to move in the room after the "crowd" when the doorbell sounded, and I went back to let in Nancy "Hiya, I'm the other BOB, hahaha," and just as I went to take a sip of me nog there was a heavy knocking and as I turned to go get it, still in wonder as to who all the people were, Tonya beat me to it and I hear behind me, "Hello officer, what did he do now?" AND I FREAKING KNEW WHO IT WAS! "Oh, no, Mrs. O, he hasn't done anything; your father-in-law invited me for Christmas Eve," and in came PERCY.
My Da invited him, huh? Well, this was just great. My question to self was this: Don't these people have their own families to visit on Christmas Eve? Well, the answer to that was nah, not really. They were spending Christmas Day with those people, but lucky us, we had them for the night before. Oh, for joy!
So, right away, I did some serious self-medicating. I started drinking and was told many a time that night, "Make my Christmas Eve, Gabe, go out and start that car up so I can arrest you for DUI." OH HA HA! Gees, the man, loves to make me miserable, even on a holiday.
I was hell-bent on trying to be on the outer edge of all the groupings, but Ms. Sugar ("Y'all havin' a good time sugar? You look like you don't know a soul here, heheee,") would put her arm in mine and lead me around introducing me several times to the same people like I had short term memory deficit. The unfortunate was I knew HALF the people in the room too well to want to remember them, but that didn't stop her from introducing her to my very own grey-haired, apple-cheeked little Mam on several turns about the room. Mam was amused. Me? Not so much
All this craziness of the buxom bubble-headed blond taking me under her wing (it should be her left breast; it was so huge, so to speak) was driving yours truly to drinking most of the whisky-laced eggnog all by his lonesome. And there was a punchbowl full. Me Da was equally drinking because he was surprised to find out Bob and Bill were married partners, and his Catholic sensibilities were struggling to come out, but his Irish politeness luckily had hold of his tongue. Yeah, Mam, be the liberal in the family. Nancy and "the other Bob" were travel-holics. Not in the travel, tour, holiday, vacation sense; no, he was a trucker, and Nance ("I feel you know me well enough for ya to call me Nance") accompanied him on his pickups around the country and Bob's your trucker, I mean uncle, and authorities on travel. OK!
It took me most of the evening before I understood how he managed to travel all over the U.S.A. every month. I was impressed up to the part about, "We just hadda stop at the Iowa 80, I tell ya, it was filled with truck displays an' has the best fast food in the country! Itz a good place ta peeple watch, and oh gosh, it has a huge parkin' lot and the truck museum, whoo-ee the best in the nation!"
And I asked, "You like this place? Why?"
"WELL, HELL, it's a trucker's paradise there, boy!" Bob nearly shouted like I was some kind of backward to his southern senses of what's a great place to get a burger. Yeah, he be from Arkansas and the other one, Sugar, she's from Tupelo, Mississippi and by the by, she said, "An ya'll don't ask me now . . . no, don't ya dare ask me how ta speel Mississippi, because even tho ah grew up there, ah still can't speel it without messin' up on how many 's's there are in it, heheee." OK.
I was safe in not asking if Nance and Bob had ever travelled abroad.
Then there was Joe and Mary, the food critics who tasted everything on the table because as she squinted her eyes and leaned toward me nibbling on a cookie (very much like a mouse would), "We are in the food business," was the excuse to sample EVERYTHING. And Rodney, a quiet guy, I thought, turns out not so quiet and all about The Walking Dead, and the zombie apocalypse. "How did we survive 12/21? Gosh, we lucked out," he said to me, slapping his thigh in emphasis, as I started to pour him a punch glass of nog refill. I left him for the kitchen and got me a water glass to pour nog into, and that is when the steady drinking started.
I noticed, after trying vainly to extract herself from Mary and Joe's telling Tonya how to make what she was serving better, that my wife, too, had covertly put her punch glass in the sink and was drinking out of a water glass as well. Shortly after, Mam had found the water glasses and had, as if in harmony, poured herself a healthy water glass of nog and, without coming up for a breath, drank it straight down after a longgg conversation (one-sided and not me Mam either, she was busy saying in response, "oh my, is that a fact?" A LOT) with Sugar telling her how wonderful Viagra is but the side effects, "Well, sometimes Rodney can't hear me, hiz vision gits blurry, and he's in the baffroom A LOT, I know we should call the doctor about that, but well . . . heheee . . . we are havin' too much fun if ya know what I mean . . . heheee." YEE-AH.
So somewhere in this mess, me Da makes an announcement it be time for the Irish Swap. I was like, the Irish what? Are we swapping wives? What is he doing NOW? Well, it was a Yankee Swap it was. Yes, indeed, those of us who had no clue about the party (me and Tonya) were not included because, as Da said, "You two have no sense of humour, sos I didn't include yas." And thank the saints, he didn't.
I won't go through the painful details of who opened what ridiculous gift, but I'll give you two that may amuse you. Sugar and Rodney wanted to get easy things, but they didn't want people to guess what they were, so they bought things to weigh down the easy gift guess. First up, Percy meanders over and picks one of the weighted gift bags (yes, R. Linda, they hadn't the compunction to wrap them), and he opens up his bag, and I had all I could do to keep from laughing. It was a Dunkin' Donuts card (so appropriate), but the other "gift," the weighty one, was a box enema. Yes, indeed! This was bought by Sugar, who told him he could return the enema. I want to know just how that works. LMAO. I can just see it, Percy at the drugstore telling the clerk he wanted to return the enema. I thought the Dunk's card, coupled with the enema, was a stroke of genius on Sugar's part. Who'd a thunk it, huh?
Then Nance picked up another gift baggy. She pulled out a gift card to Target, and the weighted extra was a box of condoms. The expression on her face was priceless. She held the box away from her like they were used. "Feels like nothing," she read off the side, not realising she was reading aloud. My wife left the room because she couldn't contain the laughter. But poor Nance, was she too going to the same drugstore to return the condoms? I wanted to be there if either of them did.
By the end of the night, there was Tonya, Mam, and meself in one corner and everyone else, including me 'holding court' Da, on the other side of the room. Tonya went to bed before everyone else because it was 1 a.m., and no one was leaving. Mam left shortly after, and I wanted so bad to throw them all out, but they were Da's guests, so bolstered by the drink, I wished them a Merry Christmas and took meself to bed.
At 3 a.m., I could still hear Sugar heheee-ing and Percy's booming laughter downstairs. Me Da has to be stopped. Yes, he does. I told Tonya that in the wee hours, we heard the door close and everyone FINALLY leaving. It was 5 a.m., and the boyos would be up at the crack of dawn!
Talk about hungover, talk about excited wee ones jumping around, talk about blinding sun-hurting smarting eyes, old people mumbling, "Wot time is it?" and doors slamming and heads bursting with pain, and a completely empty punchbowl and liquor bottles. Yeah, Merry Freaking Christmas and THANKS, DA, for last evening's entertainment and hangover -- NOT!
That is why a perfectly sumptuous Christmas turkey becomes a measly Christmas CHICKEN! It was the old man who turned the oven heat to the hell setting; it was he who started to stuff the turkey, and then me Mam pushed him out of the way because he was "sloppin' da stuffin' all over da counter," followed by an interruption from Guido about pouring another glass of orange juice, and that is when Tonya seeing the bird half stuffed finished the job just as Mam came back and then because the bird was heavy, they both acting like martyrs, together they threw the bird in the oven and both of their attention was taken by the cat climbing the hallway Christmas tree for a lark. That left bird in the hotter-than-hell oven, with no timer going, as they cleaned up the mess in the hallway and chased Mr. Kits around, trying to throw his malicious arse outside. As for me, I was in the living room, covertly burning discarded wrapping paper in the fireplace (something I'm not supposed to do because of certain chemicals in wrapping paper), and the boyos had a slew of toys they were busy with.
Only the setter seemed to know something was amiss. She'd sit there sniffing the air like there was a fire someplace. I thought she was telling me she knew what I had done with the wrapping paper, but nah, that wasn't it. Yeah, well, the fire was not in the fireplace; it was in the oven. But her doggy arse gave no hint of it. Instead, she whined to go out, which I got up and let her when I realised the air was rather dark and sooty. Yee-ah, and you can guess the rest.
So how does Christmas chicken taste? NO WAY AS GOOD AS CHRISTMAS TURKEY!
Merry Christmas! Bah, humbug!
Gabe
Copyright © 2012 All rights reserved
2 comments:
ROFLMAO
Don't complain! we had Christmas chicken on purpose! I didn't feel like wrestling with a slippery turkey!
what a family lmao. don't feel bad we had the traditional xmas goose. I'd rather have chicken though we do have a nice sauce with it. but merry xmas Gabe in spite of the madness. just think its almost over new years eve and you're done! lol
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