Ah...the nuances of simple words. You can thank my friend Google that I did not say "subtle nuances." That would be like saying "subtle subtle meanings." Which I believe is soundly frowned upon by the Redundancy Police.
I called my sixteen-year-old son, Genius, this evening to gauge his food preferences for supper. Thursday nights are our fast food nights, because Hick has his bowling league. Not that Hick is our prime cook or anything. I simply declare the kitchen closed on Thursday nights. We had reached a consensus this morning of gas station chicken. Since I did not sense a need for the 20-piece box, and since the 8-piece box has pieces we don't want, I planned to buy our petroleum pit-stop fowl by the body part.
During a lull in my after-school meeting, I called Genius.
"What kind of chicken do you want?"
"Um, breasts."
Thence ensued such a cacophony of catcalls that I could barely make out his next request.
"And that part that Dad likes so much."
The hoots and hollers would have put World Cup Soccer fans to shame.
"Guys! I can't hear. It's just my mom. NO! Not like that! It's about chicken! For supper!"
I had forgotten that Genius went to a friend's house after school to rehearse with his choir quartet for the upcoming district contest. While I couldn't see his audience through the phone, he, himself, knew the company he was keeping. Like an industrial arts teacher who must discuss wood with his class on the first day of school, Genius should have seen this coming. He is, after all, a sixteen-year-old himself. What an unfortunate faux pas, to be overheard discussing breasts on the phone with his mother.
And that part his dad likes so much? The leg. The chicken leg. Just because the kid's a genius doesn't mean he's worldly. He's the child who complained, upon eating his first chicken leg: "There's a bone in it!" At home tonight, Genius said he didn't know if it was called a leg or a thigh. Thank goodness that is not a question on the ACT. On which he has already scored 31 this year. As a sophomore.
I believe a crash course is in order. On words not to discuss with your mother while your friends are listening. And another on parts of the chicken.
2 comments:
I hope you don't run into a rude chicken vendor as I'v heard some of these people can be in gas stations. Stand way back 'cause I've heard they will thow your breasts at you! I'm not sure what they do with your thighs.
knancy,
What you've heard is true--67% of the time. Last night, I had the same server, and she fell all over herself being polite because she only had two breasts left. I demanded three. You know, for my boy who loves breasts.
That chicken vendor tried to foist her thighs on me, but I was having none of it. A tentative truce was called after I accepted her four legs.
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