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!
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.