So, the other night I was making dinner that consisted of a roast whole chicken, twice baked potato casserole, and a veggie (just to make myself feel better about the calories in the casserole). Hubby was out late at various meetings, and the dang chicken was taking its sweet time cooking. Needless to say, I was starving that night.
I found myself watching the chicken like a hawk. Every five minutes I would plod to the oven, in hopes that the little timer plug would pop. I did this for 45 minutes straight. The exercise I got from doing this made me feel that much better about eating the casserole. The issue still remained, and I pretty much surmised that the chicken hated me, and I was being tortured by the chickens soul.
I swore at that chicken like a naughty sailor. I came up with expletives that I didn’t even know existed. I think I might have even shocked the cats with my bad language because they went to hide and wouldn’t come out.
Eventually the chicken finished cooking, so I did what any sane 30 something year old famished woman would do- I tore it apart with my hands. I had only aged about 10 years while the chicken was cooking, so I somehow figured the chicken wouldn’t burn my hands or mouth (logical, right?) Unfortunately, my tongue and finger tips will never be the same.
So, this is where the Velociraptor comes in. I needed a story for when my husband came home, and found a mutilated chicken on the stove top. I’m always blaming things on imaginary prehistoric creature’s, so I figured a Velociraptor would make a fine excuse this time round’. I had the whole story laid out- the Velociraptor smelled the chicken, entered through the screen door, and tried to eat the cats, so I threw the chicken at it. It ate the chicken, burped a little dino burp, grabbed the last Amstel Light from the fridge, thanked me and merrily went on its way. See-simple and totally believable, right? I just knew you would agree!
Sadly, I never got around to telling the Velociraptor story to my husband. By the time he got home I was already in the post-bliss faze of a full stomach and half asleep. Ah well, a story for another time I suppose.