Baby Chickens and Barbeque

I was so tired yesterday, having not slept in many many moons. But then I heard my mom saying my dad was looking up the barbeque restaurant's phone number, and I knew I needed to persevere. You know how much I've wanted to eat at that place.

We went, and it was good. All you can eat just classes up any restaurant, but especially barbeque.

When it was over, my dad says, "I have an idea I want to run by you," and I screamed "Nooooooo!" This comes from childhood, when we kids got it in our mind that all meals with just us were going to lead to tortuous conversations.

When I wrote about this before, I meant to leave my parents in a good light, but maybe I didn't. The conversation that night turned out to be pretty good. And you know, looking back on it, I probably have been approaching this wrong. These conversations have to happen, so rather than being freaked, I should be glad my parents at least try to soften the blow by offering a nice meal. From now on I'm going to have a more positive outlook on things.

Anyway, yesterday afternoon my dad and I had one of the best conversations ever, and so after that and dinner I had no objections to anything he wanted to run by me. (And it turned out to be a pretty decent idea, one I will mull over.)

So all is well.

I got some good ideas at the meal, including a list of deaths I would wake people up for, but I didn't post that today because it seemed like a full slate as it was. Monday maybe.

But I did want to relate one story. The restaurant had these fabulous chicken wings, and it reminded me of when I worked at a deli. I knew almost nothing about meat. When we made wings, some looked like this:

And some looked like this:

Those second ones are called "Drumettes," and idiot me thought they were drumsticks from a baby chicken.

Every time people would order wings I'd give them the flat ones and they'd get mad and want the drumettes (more meat), and I would wonder why they didn't just order them!

I'm pretty much a total moron.