Miscommunication
“Hey, have you seen my Tupperware container of dog chicken? I wanted to give the dogs a treat,” I said, peering into my parents’ fridge.
“No,” said my father, his standard response to all questions.
“Tupperware? No,” said my mother, who actually listens to questions.
“Well, it wasn’t exactly a Tupperware container…but one of those glass containers with a blue plastic lid on it?”
“Glass?” my mother said. “You mean the chicken bone?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t see it,” I said, moving things around in the fridge. “Chris cooked it for the dogs and gave it to me, and I put underneath the canned dog food, but it’s not here anymore.”
My mother turned on my father. “You said that was left over from yesterday!”
My father turned on my mother. “How was I supposed to know!”
My mother: “You should have told me that was dog chicken!”
My father: “But I didn’t know!”
My mother: “I knew we didn’t have leftovers! I asked you why there was a bone!”
My father: “I thought you left it!”
“Hey!” I yelled. “It’s no one’s fault; I didn’t tell anyone it was dog chicken. But where is it now?”
My mother turned glumly to the pot she was stirring. She opened the lid. The three of us stared inside the pot.
“I put it in the soup,” she said.
Posted by: Supersonic Jane | February 5, 2010 | 7:36 pm
Posted in: Bits