I hosted Christmas this year and there were a few mishaps. I burnt my arm while leaning into the oven, but on the upside, the burn mark makes it easier to to masquerade as a celebrity chef. I started the turkey at 9:30 figuring twenty minutes per pound, and then when it was nearly done at 11:30, realized fresh turkeys only need ten minutes a pound. Hm. Took it out, put it back in at two, tragedy averted.
My husband, Mike, decided for breakfast he’d have a leftover biscuit with cream cheese on it. The cream cheese was cold and he moaned about how hard it was to spread.
“Give it a chance to warm up,” I offered from the other room. I’m frequently full of helpful advice.
There were a few more grunts from the kitchen and then he arrived in the living room with his snack to binge watch The Office with me. We’re desperate for things to watch over the holiday. We even watched the first episode of the British version of The Office and then the American first episode to compare and contrast. Then University of Phoenix sent us a Doctorate degree because comparing two episode of the office is a viable thesis for a PhD from there.
Anyway, Mike finished his biscuit and I went into the kitchen where I found the Zip-Lock bag that held the cream cheese package wrapped in silver. The cream cheese was still in the Zip-Lock, but another silver package was lying out and open beside it.
“Is this open package the one you used on your biscuit?” I asked, fingers crossed that it was. Oh please oh please let him have used the package out of the bag.
“I guess, why?” he called from the living room.
“I mean, you didn’t use the one still in the Zip-Lock right? Must be the one open on the counter?”
“I guess. Sorry. I’ll put it back.”
“No that’s not it…” I said, giggles already beginning to rise. “The package in the bag is cream cheese but the package outside the bag is not.”
“What? What does that mean?”
“That means maybe you were having trouble spreading the cream cheese because it was Crisco shortening.”
“WHAAAT??!”
This is the part where I laughed hysterically and start calling everyone I know to tell them Mike just ate Crisco on a biscuit. He, on the other hand, turns an interesting shade of green.
He spent quite a bit of time in the bathroom after that. And I spent the rest of the day referring to him as “The Crisco Kid” and asking him if his favorite movie was “Grease.”
