Yesterday, Turtle went on a holiday baking spree, and the house smells like cookies and fudge and popcorn drizzled with melted “red hots” (cinnamon candy).
Turtle: I hope I didn't scald myself. I spilled molten red hots all over the leg of my jeans.
Foo: You okay?
Turtle: I… yeah. I think so.
Foo: Then can I start calling you “sugar britches”?
Turtle: That depends on how you'd feel about living with a permanent limp.
All of this was kind of the result of an invitation to a party. One of our RBENT friends has just celebrated his first year surviving lung cancer, and the gang planned to converge on his house to help him mark the date. Some yummy Tex-Mex, a little wine, and a lot of laughs later, I felt like we'd impressed on him how glad we all are that he's winning the battle. Live Strong, Bud!
This morning, we slept in. Around 8:30 I put on a pot of coffee and set about whipping up some bacon and eggs. Turtle set about trying to help, and we were quickly in one another's way. I found myself channeling my dad.
“Look,” he'd say in situations when Mom or we kids were too much under foot. “Why don't you just go sit down someplace?”
I realized immediately what I'd said. I waited, thinking maybe Turtle hadn't been listening. She started laughing, and I knew I was busted.
Good thing my wife has a sense of humor.
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2 comments:
The only cookies I've been inspired to make this year are gingerbread men and women with red hot buttons. They make the house smell so good, and are about the only true Christmas cookie my husband will eat. (God, he's picky!)
@Mrs. H: My mom sent us some gingerbread men this year, and I was amazed to learn that my lovely bride had never tried gingerbread of any kind. I made her try one. I think she liked it, but she quite often says things to humor me so it's a little hard to be sure.
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