The night of the funky chicken!
So, on Sunday my mister proposed! I will be sure to write up a post all about it so y’all can be in on the details. I found this little note I wrote a few years ago about us and I figured I would share. Bless his heart, he recently told me that I have ruined him because he has become a food snob. Long gone are the days of fast food for him. Why? “It just doesn’t taste like food anymore,” he says.
The Queen took domain over the produce and the King was in the charge of the meat. The little pixie was official taste tester and cookie monster.
All was well in the Land of Food…
Then came the night of the funky chicken and best intentions gone awry.
The Queen was in her chambers working away and the King decided he would make supper for his fair lady. Smoked Chicken on a Beer Can. He labored away on the chicken making sure the temperature was perfect on the smoker and even incorporated produce into cooking the chicken.
When complete the flavor was wonderful but the queen, being an expert in the taste of good ingredients, did not need to see the empty Purdue packaging in the trash to know that this chicken was a funky chicken. Although the King cooked it to perfection, she explained to him that part of the meal was the experience and eating tortured chicken did not make for happy hearts.
She was grateful for his efforts but respectfully requested that he refrain from purchasing funky chicken. He agreed but in his adolescence ways could not refrain from leaving clucking noises on her voicemail with the message, “it’s the funky chicken calling.”
Leave a Reply