Chicken Little

23 Mar

Felt horrible all day, so had drummer boy make a call to hubby to request a chicken run to the local grocery. Mind you, I was in no condition to cook one.

Having felt a bit guilty for not preparing an entire meal–not that anyone fully expects me to–I dragged my poor tired self into the kitchen to make a large bowl of salad to appease Kaukab’s voice-pointing, concerning my wifely and motherly neglect.

When hubby arrived, there was only one small roasted chicken in our presence. (I had requested two.) And barbeque-less. Both requests were denied.

Apparently, there had been a run on these chicken roasters. So much so, that by the time hubby appeared, there was only one left. We had the pleasure of eating a dry, ketchup-y bird. My mind yelled Kaukab’s voice, “Serve you right!”

I turned to eat my salad.

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