Tuesday, October 18, 2011

The Rare Foot Wing

 Morning Readers,
     If you ever happen to invite me over, don't leave food out you don't want eaten. Like a moth to flame, any stray brownies, meatloaf, pie or Saltines will probably meet their fate at my hands. I look fairly innocent, but turn your back and, wham...."What brownie? I haven't seen any brownies around here. You know how brownies are, probably left you for some Lady O' The Night in Vegas...

Um, do you have any milk?"

But after this past Saturday night, I'm considering revising my grazing habits...

     Sidling up to the table, I took a seat next to my family and started poking around at what was left of the birthday party food. Having gleaned what I could from the buffet, and biting a man's hand of for taking the last of the cheese dip, I was on the prowl for something extra. Something that said, "I'm so glad my brother-in-law's turning thirty, I'm going to eat until I can't fit in the mirror."

     I didn't have to scavenge long. Just as the perfectly-to-scale city revealed itself to Indiana in Raiders of The Lost Ark, there sat the wing. It seemed too good to be true, the last wing at the table, alone..sitting next to a cup of ranch dressing. I leaned down and whispered.

     "Well don't you look tasty. But, why are you here all alone, wing? No matter, you shall be eaten anyway. I bid you adieu."

     "Did you just eat that?"

     Like a lion over a gazelle, I kept one paw on my kill and looked up at my cousin staring at me in disbelief. "Yes. Wait...why?" If life's taught me anything, good news is never preceded by uncontrollable laughter, unless someone's put a gun to your head and demanded a funny joke, or else.

     A bout of body-wrenching silent laughter overtook her as she began poking my sisters-in-law. "She ate it. I can't believe she ate it." Mouths gaped.

     I bit my lip. "Are you trying to tell me I may not qualify for that life insurance policy. Because we tried really hard to get all those medical questions right. Who knows the specific day they had a third arm removed when they were eight?"

     Between gasps, she managed. "That wing was on the floor."

     "Ugh, gross. Oh well. It tasted fine."

     "Did it taste like feet?" *more laughter*


     Sobering for a moment, she continued. "That wing fell on the floor, and then.." She pointed at my sister-in-law. "She picked it up with her feet. Her toes, actually."

     My sister-in-law interjected. "It was just that I was trying to get it, and then our aunt was trying to pick it up, so we both were doing our best to get it with our feet."

     "So I'm hearing "feet" and not "we grabbed it with sanitized tongs and washed it before we put it back on the plate" correct?

     My sister-in-law gave me a sympathetic look. "I'm really sorry."

     If there's no post on Thursday, I've died of a wing-contracted illness. Mourn not, but promise me you won't get wings for the funeral dinner.

Feel free to add any stories involving any of you mistakenly eating something off the ground that had previously been used as a soccer ball.

Until Next Time, Readers!