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Friday, October 26, 2012

Somebody Make Some Dinner

Hunneypunkin blows through the back door dripping with rainwater after towing his stranded buddy's bellied-up truck home from a neighboring state and dumps his soggy coat, sweaty hat, and greasy gloves on top of the mail I'm looking through.  "Man, I'm tired, and it's cold out there.  But he bought me a Big Mac and gave me twenty bucks for gas!  What's for dinner?"
Out loud I say, "Glad you're back.  I don't have a plan for dinner," instead of, "I'm just home from bustin my tuchus on a forty-nine hour workweek and you blew my entire paycheck to drag your pal home from Timbuktu and all I got for lunch was a p.b. and j. with a migraine at a desk while you ate a nice hot e-coli burger with Special Sauce with a friend and now I'll be up half the night helping children with homework which your unemployed butt was supposed to be doing while I managed crabby customers but instead you were out on superhero duty again, how many times have we talked about this, and now you're asking ME what's for dinner when you were supposed to have it READY when I got HOME, and all your homeboy could spot you was a JACKSON?" because I'm self-controlled like that.
So I take a deep breath and fake a cheap smile and wade through the pets to the kitchen, determined to be all domestical.  Hunneypunkin catches a hint when the kitchen cabinets start closing with gusto and I'm shoving dirty plates around, muttering about how Jesus might feed six with two jars of homemade jam and five stale tortilla chips, because he says, "If you wanna wash some dishes, I'll figure out something for dinner."
Smart boy.  Dawn and I start cutting grease while Hunneypunkin makes up his own lyrics to popular music.  He must have some sort of Wishsong of Shannara talents because as he sings I start breathing dinnery aromas.  Next thing I know we're shoveling down a hot sup and I can't figure out how he built all this steaming savoriness when all I could find was a dented can of pears.  Hunneypunkin possesses all the resourcefulness of Jeremy Renner.  Lucky for him, because later when I'm working algebra at 10:29 pm and he's sawing logs on the couch, I won't knock him at the head with a textbook in a hypoglycemic fit.

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