When the Smoke Clears

While driving to my aunt’s house my mother managed to get in a few logistics phone calls.

“So don’t make the potatoes, we’ll make the potatoes…. …. …. no he’ll cook them (you’ll cook them, right?)”

“Yes, of course…”

“With onions and sour cream and garlic, right?”

“You know what, I’ll make them and then you can decide what you want to add AFTER you taste them.”

Back into the phone, “Yeah, the chef won’t reveal his secrets… no… no he won’t say…. I’ll ask but I don’t think he drinks that much… do you want some rum? should we pick up some other mixers on the way? you don’t drink heavily do you?”

“Um… no… not heavily… ”

Back into the phone, “Yeah, he’ll be fine with the one bottle. No, he says he still has dreams and aspirations and doesn’t feel like he needs to drown them away with the booze just yet.” She laughs into the phone. “Yeah, I know. Give it a little more time…”

Trackback URI | Comments RSS