What is that glorious smell in my house you ask? It would be deep fried chicken tenders. Last night my husband and son teamed up to make buttery potatoes and fried chicken. Apparently someone is trying to kill me.
I was losing my mind - it is easier to avoid scarfing down a fried chicken leg or thigh, but when they are just itsy bitsy tenders...So I left the house. After I started the car and backed out of the driveway I made sure I was dressed. I drove to Wal*Mart with images of Quasimodo in my mind screaming, "SANCTUARY!"
I bought every variety of fruit offered and restocked my Smart Ones supply - and so I wouldn't appear too selfish, I grabbed some toilet paper and dog food.
By the time I got back home I was energized. Then I walked back into the house. The smell didn't merely draw me in...no, the tantalizing smell of fresh fried chicken reached out, sucker punched me, and dragged my drooling face into the kitchen. I wanted to cry when I saw my son crunching into a piece - he even had a drop of butter on his chin from a potato.
Thankfully, I had armfuls of Wal*Mart bags or I might have lost the battle right then. While I unpacked, I unceremoniously tossed a steamable bag of broccoli in the microwave (my secret weapon). By the time I was done with my Wal*Mart haul, the veggies were ready. Only one more hurdle left: I had to reach across the chicken tenders to get a plate. Briefly I wondered if I could just eat the veggies out of the bag but thought better of it.
Oh yeah. I did it. I ate my steamed broccoli in the other room while the boys filled their faces with fried chicken and buttery potatoes. King Arthur may have had a fine sword, but Excalibur has nothing on a bag of steamed broccoli!
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