He Lived

Last night Steve helped me make home made chicken nuggets. It's quite a process and since he requested them, I let him bread them while I baked oven fries and fried the chicken. The oven fries were a bit slower getting done than the chicken nuggets and Steve was feeling antsy for dinner. He kept opening the oven to peek in.

I said, "they'll be done a lot faster if you stop opening the oven door."

"oh yeah. Right." He says in his lovely regressed back 20 years voice. "I never took you for an old wife."

I had to inform him that it wasn't a superstition; it was scientific fact that the inside of an oven can drop by as much as 25 degrees every time you open the oven door, so every time he peeked he made dinner take just a little bit longer. He didn't believe me.

At this point he realized that I was starting to get a bit annoyed with him over this, so he, of course, had to wind me up. We had a lovely discussion where I was getting more annoyed and he was having more fun for the next couple of minutes before I declared dinner done just so I could get him to shut up.

My parting remark right before I took out the oven fries was something along the lines of "believe whatever you want, but an oven looses 25 degrees when you open the door."

"Oh sure" he said, "maybe in AAAAAAmy-land," drawn out and fully accented in the way only someone who made good use of his time as a 5th grade boy can do.

I was speechless. And annoyed. And holding a very hot pan of oven fries.

"That's a hot pan, isn't it?" he asked cringing.

"Yes, dear. It's 450 degrees hot."

"Well technically, it's 425 degrees hot."






And then the kids spent the rest of the night saying "Amy-land" to me and then giggling.