I like books.


I live in a small town and enjoy writing about the inhabitants. I spend most of my time perusing through used book stores looking for that one great book that I don't have; consequently, I have rooms filled with books. I am a book addict.

Wednesday, September 28, 2005

Wing envy, lust, fianlly guilt

I am still obsessing about the wing. I can’t help it, it is, after all, my favorite part of the chicken. When I was a child, I longed for the chance to get my own piece of chicken. My younger sister and I shared the leg. Mama said it was because we were so young and teething, hell, I was teething until I was six years old, chewing on that old leg bone and then passing it on to my psychotic in waiting sister. I wanted the wing, that is what my older sisters got, my brother the other leg, my eldest sister the pulley bone, which was part of the breasts and my brothers fought over who got the breast and who got the thighs, notice I said thighs, they were men, grown men of 18 or so and they got the best pieces of chicken. My mom always ate the back, she said it was her favorite piece, but I doubt anyone liked the back, I think it was all that was left when her ten kids and piece of crap boyfriend got finished. So, that wing lust from my childhood has carried over until now and all I ever want is the wing. My sisters, now much older and retired and still full of sibling rivalry, make these wonderful chicken dishes in spite of my pleas that the chickens are so mistreated and they think I am nuts careering for such a lowlife creature and remind me of the days when we had chickens and how stupid they were and how on Sunday mornings, Mama would wring the neck off of the slowest running chicken and how we never thought that was cruel and I say, well, I actually did think it was cruel but she didn’t taunt the bird, nor did she extend its suffering, no she quickly yanked off its head with two swings, I doubt it felt much, it sure didn’t suffer and there was never internal damage before killing, anyway, they make these great dishes and often the wings are tossed into a bag and used when they need broth, imagine that, the wing used for broth. Even when the sisters and brothers all grew up and moved out, they still, or at least the two sisters and their husbands and their kids always made it back to our house on Sunday, where I had graduated to the wing and I felt so grown up watching my younger niece and nephew chew on the leg bones, it was then that I realized that when my younger sister and I got the bone, there was little meat and I saw why, before handing the bone to my niece and nephew, their moms took off all but a sliver of meat and as I recall those hogs were the ones who handed me my bone, those chicken meat thieves.

So last night, Mr. Zelda and I were going out to eat, a make up dinner, better than make-up sex, and he said pick the place and I was going to say Wings, but said Lone Star. I avoided the chicken menu and went straight for the beef and after I ordered, realized that there was a lobster tail but it was just the tail and I saw no tank so it’s doubtful it was boiled a live, or maybe it was and I contributed to the in humane death of the lobster. Yikes, I am really going to have to watch my steps in this world if I am going to do WBWD.


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