Page 15 of I Could Never
But surprisingly, we developed a groove: Josh washed and pounded the chicken while I dipped each breast in egg, flour, and Italian bread crumbs, then dropped it into the hot oil.
Look at us working together.If we weren’t currently the epitome of a domesticated-yet-dysfunctional family, I didn’t know what was.
Everything went smoothly until Scottie entered the kitchen with his tablet up to his ear and got a look at what we were up to.
Josh turned to him. “Hey, buddy. We’re making your extra-ass chicken. You excited?”
Scottie bounced back and forth on his feet as he observed the flour-covered counter with vested interest. He then left the kitchen and headed straight for my bedroom.
I cringed, hoping I hadn’t left anything out that he could get into. Then I remembered the clothes. “Crap. I have some laundry in there that I folded earlier. He’s gonna jump on the bed and mess it all up.”
“We both have chicken on our hands, so let him be,” Josh said. “I’ll refold it later.”
Just when my nerves about Scottie rummaging through my room calmed down, he reentered the kitchen. The next thing I knew, something flew into my pan of oil. Josh and I jumped back simultaneously.
What the?
I blinked rapidly, glad I hadn’t gotten hot oil on me. Scottie had thrown something into the pan before running off.
Josh grabbed the tongs and lifted it out of the sizzling grease before it could disintegrate. “What the fuck is this?” he yelled.
Horrified, I froze.
Josh held it toward me. “It looks like a piece of rubber chicken.”
I shook my head. “It’s not a piece of chicken.”
“What the hell is it then?”
I want to die.“It’s one of my silicone breast inserts. He must have gone through my things in there and thought it should be added to our batch.” The insert was nude-colored and looked exactly like a chicken breast.
Josh’s expression morphed from shock to pure amusement. His shoulders shook as he set the insert down on a paper towel. He leaned against the counter. “It does look like fucking chicken.” He held onto his stomach as he barely got the words out through his laughter. “He was just trying to help.”
The laughter spread like wildfire, erupting in me as well. We were both practically crying.
I wiped my eyes. “I’m gonna have to get a lock for that door.”
Scottie scurried back into the kitchen.
“Scottie, no going in my room!” I told him.
“Yeah. That’s gonna work,” Josh declared sarcastically. “You can go into any room you want, buddy. Tell her to calm her chicken tits.”
I elbowed him. “Very funny.”
“You’re right. My humor is kind of…flat.”
Grabbing a dishtowel, I whipped it at him.
“Chicken Tits!” He snorted as he swung the rag over his shoulder. “That’s even better than Lemon Pits!”
***
The silicone-tit incident seemed to be a turning point in our dysfunctional situation, because by some miracle, later that evening, the three of us managed to sit down to a fairly nice and normal dinner. There was no arguing. No Scottie tantrums. No Josh and Carly tantrums, either.
Even though gluten could make me sick, I was too lazy to make a separate meal, so I sucked it up for one night and ate the same chicken as everyone else. We’d made a big enough batch to go roundandlast Scottie for a few days after. I’d also put together a salad and roasted sweet potatoes in the oven for Josh and me.
I spoke with my mouth full. “These cutlets are pretty good. It’s no wonder he likes them.”