My Life: An amusing dinner

Last Thursday night we all assembled for supper around 6:45.  Normally we eat at 6:00 but The Girl was cooking and so dinner was a little late.  I was forewarned that we were having hamburgers with hash brown potatoes on the side.  I have no objection here, as I can skip the bun and the hash browns, me being on a low carb diet and all.

Flounder loaded her plate with two hamburgers, half a pound of hash brown potatoes and a side order of ketchup (an approved public school lunch vegetable).  My brother gave the prayer before supper and two tenths of a second after 'Amen' Flounder fell to with all the enthusiasm of a hungry bulldog on top of a full dish of Alpo - curbed only by recent instruction in table manners by The Girl, who is prone to eat her salad with her hands.  I studied the centerpiece, a random arrangement of three plastic flowers placed cunningly adjacent to the salt and pepper shakers.  I noted that the pepper shaker was almost full, while the salt shaker was three quarters empty and was resting on its side.  I idly speculated if my observance could be used to convict me of being a pessimist, and if so did it really matter.  I surmised my observation could be used in such a fashion but only if I admitted it in front of impeccable witnesses.  Otherwise I could go into denial.  I continued my wool gathering, speculating that the spilled salt would be certain to bring someone bad luck, and that I might be caught in the fall out.  The television in the living room blared away unheeded by three of the four people at the table, tuned in to some nameless reality show involving a dysfunctional extended family, one or more of whom were being removed from the family domicile by the local constabulary amidst a tirade that is best described as Tyrone Theater (credit to Beat and Release).  I winced inwardly - Shotgun Bob and The Girl are supposed to be setting a good example for this impressionable twelve year old, and they leave this kind of trash on TV?  Just as Tyrone was being cuffed and stuffed I was distracted by Flounder, and not because she was throwing food to the dogs.

"You know I like my potatoes." Flounder proclaimed around a mouthful of hash browns.  I noted that having food in her mouth mitigates her thick Southern accent.

"That's nice." The Girl responded, a bit absent-mindedly.

"My Momma is a good cook.  She has her own special spices for potatoes." Flounder continued.

"I see."  Said The Girl, beginning to pay attention.

"These came out of a bag, didn't they?"  Flounder asked.

The Girl starts doing a slow burn.  In fact, she is rendered speechless.  The Girl finally wrestles her temper to the floor and pins it.

"Yes, they did."  The Girl responded through clenched teeth.

"My Momma always does hers up fresh.  She's a real good cook."  Flounder continued unabated.

I successfully stopped myself from laughing out loud.  Shotgun Bob was barely successful.  I couldn't think of a thing to say to change the subject without starting up a nice chain reaction of some sort.  See what a good example I'm setting?  Note my self-control?  My generous, kind and goodhearted nature?  I could have something about some people being too lazy to cook, but I didn't.

Anyway, the meal ended a little early that night.  Just as well, I suppose.