Spelling and Eating

There is only one casserole I will eat.  Sour Cream and Chicken Enchilada Casserole.  I adore the stuff.  Apparently so does my baby brother because he asked for it for his birthday dinner.  (I guess when you always eat out, a home-cooked meal is a treat, and I’m just the opposite.)

Saturday we all gathered to have dinner in honor of my brother’s 29th birthday.  I looked over mid-meal to Tornado A who sat next to me.  My little vegetarian (weird for a meat-eating family, right?) was digging into the casserole.  It was almost gone.  I made eye contact with my mom and, in a discreet manner, pointed to Tornado A.

My mom: I know.  I’ve been watching him eat.  I can’t believe me.

Me: I know, right?  (giggle)  No one tell him there’s M-E-A-T in it.

Tornado A: I eat the chicken!

Oh God.

Please Lord, in Your infinite mercy, let that be a fluke.

Me: (sound normal; don’t panic; it was a fluke; it was a fluke.)  Is it good?

Tornado A: WAY!  I like chicken!  I eat chicken now!

We’ll see next time I give your chicken strips.

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