On Friday nights, my husband Butch will often stop on his way home at the little store at the bottom of our mountain and buy fried chicken, which is always an outstanding idea because they have really yummy fried chicken.
One day when he did this, he put the box o’ fried chicken on the counter for the maid to put in the fridge, except that we don’t have a maid. He must have forgotten. Hmph.
Anyway, and I honestly have no idea why I did this, when Butch wasn’t looking I grabbed one of the legs, took a huge bite out of it, put it back in the box with the rest of the chicken, nestling it under the other pieces. And waited..
When Butch later opened the box to get a piece of chicken, there was Dead Silence. Then a grunt. Then a slow pulling out of this piece of nibbled chicken leg, a thorough examination, stark comprehension dawning, eyebrows shooting up in alarm, then shock and finally, anger.
Lifting high the offended chicken leg, he made a loud declaration of, well I can’t quote exactly what he said because he’s a potty mouth but it went something like this, “Some Jackleg Rumpot took a bite out of my chicken! What the HECK??!!” while I sat there innocently watching all of this with the appropriate look of shock and disbelief on my face.
Butch ranted and raved as only he can, waving that leg all around, threatening the perpetrator with all sorts of heinous acts while I was using every ounce of self-control that I possessed not to laugh and admit my fowl crime. Oh it was hard!
When he put the leg back into the box, shoving the box under his arm football-style and declared loudly, “SOMEONE is going to PAY!” and started to stomp out the door to drive ALL the way back down the mountain to get fried chicken justice, I finally burst out laughing and fessed up.
Butch is rarely ever at a loss for words. He stood there with this box under his armpit, mouth agape, staring at this woman he suddenly realized he did not know, then said, “Do you realize I was about to go down there and give them all sorts of heck?” And I answered, “Yeah and it was WAY tempting to let you do that too. It would have been HILARIOUS. You stomping in there waving that leg around, demanding someone admit their chicken shenanigans. Hawwww!” At which he started laughing then said, “I can’t believe you did that.”
Which all goes to show that if you forget that you don’t have a maid and don’t keep a menopausal woman fairly entertained and leave her alone with a box o’ fried chicken, there’s just no telling what might happen. 😉