Anyone who has ever been lost in the jungles of distant continents needs to give up on wishing for a machete to hack their way back to civilization.
They can use the Magic Bullet instead, because the Magic Bullet will pulverize all the vines and vegetation growing in the way. (Although PETA would probably ambush me for even thinking this, let alone MENTIONING THIS in a rather public, World-Wide-Web way, I think you could even stuff a snake into a Magic Bullet and be done with him on a basis that is equal to FOREVER, and THAT is a powerfully good thing.)
(Have I mentioned that THE SNAKES! THEY ARE NOT MY BEST FRIENDS! before?)
On Sunday, when Hubs zipped off to Wal-Mart to buy oil, I also mentioned that I’d be forever grateful if he’d also grab something to throw onto the grill for dinner, because we were at an all-time low for grocery items at the Jedi Palace. Hubs came back home with oil for the Suburban, a Magic Bullet, and chicken. What I didn’t mention is that I was busy folding a load of laundry when Hubs walked in with his landfill-cluttering plastic sacks from Wal-Mart, and he simply announced, “I bought chicken; I’ll throw it on the grill.”
And he did.
And then he said to me, “I’m going back outside to finish up the Suburban’s oil change. When the timer goes off, can you flip the chicken over?”
Yes. I could do that. I did, in fact, believe that I was almost OVER-EDUCATED for that particular chore.
And then, because Hubs buys in bulk and I buy just the amount we need, I should not have gasped in surprise when I opened the lid of the Traeger grill to find TWELVE ENORMOUS CHICKEN BREASTS, which were half-cooked.
Twelve chicken breasts, and we are a family of three. Twelve chicken breasts, and we weren’t expecting company. I simply sighed and praised the modern convenience of the LG refrigerator. Had we lived a few years earlier and been called Hunters and Gatherers, we would have had to eat that entire flock of chickens which was browning up nicely, because of NO REFRIGERATION SYSTEM.
Hubs’ plan, which he revealed later, was to use the leftover chicken breasts in his Magic Bullet, because apparently Hubs had a hankering for chicken salad sandwiches.
So last night, Hubs loaded the Magic Bullet with the chicken and some apple chunks and a good dollop of Miracle Whip, and he set the spinning blades to go for ten seconds.
And then we POURED the chicken salad out of the Magic Bullet and onto the bread, because OH MY WORD! Ten seconds in the Magic Bullet is also commonly called LIQUEFIED DINNER.
We called the boy inside and told him to wash his hands. The boy turned to us, as he does every single night, and asked, “What are we having for dinner?” The boy likes to be prepared for what is about to show up on his plate. If it isn’t tacos, sauce-less meatloaf, pancakes, a loaf of homemade bread or spaghetti, the chances of him being INTERESTED in dinner are quite slim.
Hubs said, “It’s chicken salad sandwiches. I’ve cooked dinner for the entire family.”
Yes. Yes, he had. If by cook, he meant, “I pushed the button on the Magic Bullet for ten seconds, and I made us chicken salad shakes.”
The boy raised an eyebrow at us and asked, “What’s IN chicken salad?”
Hubs said, “Chicken. Apples. Miracle Whip. You like all three of those things.”
The boy took a bite, and shuddered. He began his series of seizure-like maneuvers which indicate that dinner is not going to pass his Quality Control Standards.
And then he announced, “Well, I’ve learned tonight that I can’t stand chicken, apples and Miracle Whip mixed together. Let’s keep these things separate from now on.” And then he played his dinner PASS card, which meant that he didn’t get the chocolate mousse that Hubs whipped up in the Magic Bullet AFTER dinner.
And Hubs made sure that he said, “Oh! This mousse is SOOOO good,” one hundred and four times, even though Hubs ate two chicken salad shakes sandwiches and didn’t even WANT the chocolate mousse to begin with. I think it goes without saying that the boy drooled a bit, and then he went to bed with a rumbling tummy.
It all reminded me of a Hallmark card that a good friend of mine sent to me not too long ago, because she knows! She knows our life with the boy! And her child will eat anything! Green bell peppers? Yes! Mushrooms? Mmm-hmm! Tater tot casserole? Absolutely! Ham and beans? Bring it on! Dirt? Probably even that, if it landed on his dinner plate!