Some of you (via Facebook) got a kick out of me discovering this in my left over turkey today when I was ripping it apart to make turkey soup. (Just so the rest of you know, Robin was in charge of the turkey.)
But it got me thinking and then it hit me - don't think I've ever shared this here before.
One day, when living in Miami, she called me and asked if a baked chicken was good for dinner. Fine. When I got home, the house didn't smell like she'd been cooking. I didn't say anything, assuming she'd changed her mind. An hour or so later I asked what she wanted to do for dinner. She told me she'd made a chicken and it was in the oven.
"Well did you turn the oven on?"
"Yes, Kim. I'm not a dumbass."
"I don't smell anything."
We went to the kitchen together to check on things. Assuming she would open the oven door, you can imagine my surprise WHEN SHE PULLED OUT THE STORAGE DRAWER UNDERNEATH THE OVEN.
Yep. There was our raw chicken looking back at us.
...I'm not a dumbass, my ass...
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