Yesterday was my husband’s birthday. On Sunday I asked him what he wanted for his birthday supper.
Me: What do you want for your birthday supper?
Him: I don’t know.
Me: (Staring at him pointedly, waiting.)
Me: I said, what do you want for your birthday supper?
Him (dismissively): Whatever you want.
Me: I want to know what you want. That’s what I want.
Him: I don’t know!
Me: (Silence, waiting.)
Him (sighing heavily): Something that the kids like, I guess.
Me: (More silence. Still waiting.)
Him: Um…I like fried chicken. But that’s complicated, right? So never mind. It’s too complicated. I don’t want something that will stress you—
Me (thoroughly irritated): Is that what you want? Fried chicken?
Him (anxious): It sounds like a lot of work…
Me: That’s not your problem. I can make anything. If you want fried chicken, I’ll make fried chicken.
So yesterday afternoon, the kids and I drove to town to buy his birthday presents (gumdrops, spicy hot peanuts, tinned mints, and Skittles—we’re a real high-class bunch), and I got the chicken…from KFC.
Back home I dumped the mountain of extra crispy legs onto one of my big baking trays and slipped them into the oven to stay warm. I heated up some leftover corn, made a big bowl of mashed potatoes, and opened a jar of applesauce.
I dumped the contents of a boxed angel food cake into a mixing bowl, added water, mixed well, and slipped the pan of white goop in the oven to bake while we ate our supper.
My husband like the chicken. He asked lots of questions about it.
Him: This is good. What’s in the coating?
Me: See if you can guess.
Him: Probably flour and water and spices.
Me: That might be right.
Him: Bread crumbs?
Me: Um…I’m not exactly sure. (The kids were laughing their heads off.)
Him (comprehension dawning): You didn’t….make this. This…this is Kentucky Fried Chicken!
Me (giggling demurely): I told you fried chicken wouldn’t be a problem!
I didn’t take a picture of our gourmet chicken dinner, but I did snap a photo of the cake. Be impressed, y’all.
Do I ever know how to rock a birthday or what?
PS. We wrap our birthday gifts in newspaper. Real snazzy.
PPS. My husband was reading through this tonight, a little smile on his lips, when all of the sudden he erupted with a roar, THAT WAS A BOX CAKE?!
He didn’t know! I had no idea!
Moral: if you’re using a box cake, make it look real bad and everyone will think it’s homemade.