Taking it out on my Peeps
It was an early day for The Salamander. Physical Therapy started an hour earlier (7:00 am), so I had to be out of bed by 5:00, and out the door by 5:30. It’ll be a late day for the Salamander. A couple of shipments failed to come in yesterday, and I need to be around to finish reviewing them today. I hope to be out of here by five, but I can see already that is wishful thinking. At least I get Monday off.
Elder Sister’s birthday celebration is in two days, and I still have no idea what to get her. Frankly, I’m still in a snit about her and Younger Sister finding it such a chore to call me that they have to play tag-team to return my calls. And I’m copping an attitude because Y.S. copped an attitude over me asking if we couldn’t have dinner a little later than noon on Easter day. At first I just thought that the Sisters wanted an early dinner because both have to work the next day, and I didn’t see the harm in having dinner at 2:00 instead of 12:00 (we ended up compromising at 1:00). I belatedly realized that they both probably have other plans for supper, which is why Younger Sister’s nose was so out of joint. By forcing a later dinner, I’m going to push it closer to whatever time their next meals are.
Family tradition has it that the Birthday Girl gets to pick what to have on her birthday dinner, so it looks like the main course is going to be chicken salad. Chicken salad is cold, wet, slimy chicken. It is not an acceptable food. It has been long established in my family that I don’t like chicken salad (I’ve held this stand for over forty years) and so Younger Sister is going to broil a chicken breast for me.
One of the reasons The Socialist and I are compatible is that our tastes occasionally coincide. Not so often as to make us little clones of the other, but often enough that we can guard each other’s back in times of need. The Socialist does not believe that mayonnaise is a food, and refuses to put anything in his mouth that has even shared the same shelf in the refrigerator with a jar of mayo. I asked if he might have a broiled chicken breast too. If my requesting a time change weren’t bad enough, my requesting a special menu pretty much toasted the issue. I may be dense, but I recognize when a sigh says, “Jeez, next you’ll be wanting me to chauffeur you back and forth and wipe your mouth when you’re done eating.” I wonder if Younger Sister was intuitive enough to recognize that my returning sigh said, “Screw it. If you don’t like it, uninvite me.”
Why couldn’t I have been healthy last Saturday and too sick to attend Easter dinner instead?
I have plans for tomorrow. It’s Eastertime, and therefore Nuke-a-Peep season is upon us. I’ve already made a trial run, and the pictures didn’t come out half bad. My plan is to nuke the rest of the Peeps tomorrow, and update the photos to my diary.
