Check this one out.
Yesterday I was again taking advantage of my parents' proximity by stopping in to use some of their tools to make a repair to a backpack. As it was a nice day, I was outside. My father came outside to join me, and kindly offered me something to eat. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate his love, concern and generous offer. But as I was focused on what I was doing I didn't really look up as he came out to talk to me.
"Hey I just wanted to let you know that I made some spaghetti if you want some."
Sensible enough. What a guy! "Thanks Dad!"
"Yeah, I cooked it up in bacon grease as a sauce," slurping sound, "I don't recommend it."
I looked up to see my Dad brandishing a gallon-sized tupperware tub full of rust-red spaghetti. The walls of the tub are coated in grease. Cooper has noodles dangling from his mouth.
My Sister later hipped me to the fact that there had been a massive bacon-cooking earlier in the week, followed by an explicit request not to dump the grease down the sink because "it's bad for the drain." Fortunately, Cooper found an inventive solution for the ecological dilemma and an appropriate repository for said grease: his interior with the aid of pasta.
No comments:
Post a Comment