While Heather was here, we cooked some tasty food. She really wanted to live it up (which means "eat tasty food") because all Mom cooks at home these days, and I quote, is "cardboard and fish." Ewww. Dad is on Weight Watchers (again) and that's all he can eat--"cardboard and fish." It's sad that Mom's cooking has come to this (she is afterall a fabulous cook), but Dad's health is muy importante.
Anyway, on the first night, we made croissant sandwiches (loaded with fat). We decided that fries would make a great side dish, so I added everything into a plastic zipper feature bag (notice I did not say "Ziploc"--if we would have used an actual Ziploc brand bag, what happened would not have happened). I began to shake the bag with everything inside. I think Heather felt excluded so she said, "Pass it over here!" and held her hands wide. We began passing the bag back and forth across the kitchen, getting progressively more creative with our passes. And then the inevitable happened. Heather turned around and launched that fry bag at me from between her legs. The non-Ziploc bag burst open and sprayed me with fries, parmesan, olive oil, and other tasty spices. We both let out a little scream and then stopped, staring in disbelief at my grease-splattered clothes. Then, of course, we had to laugh and pick up the fries, which we decided to eat anyway. The picture shows me in the aftermath. I learned two valuable lessons from this experience: 1. Always use Ziploc bags, and 2. "Fry Bag Throwing" is not a team sport.
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