In their early years of matrimony the cowboy worked hard to build his horseshoeing business.
Translation: it was f-a-r- from established & money was tight. One evening the teacher was feeling lovey-dovey and wanted to go on a date. Reconciled to the fact a five star outing was a smidge out of budget she opted to go the cracker barrel-home version route…
She scurried about the house while the cowboy finished at the barn.. Swapped her teacher attire for something a bit more wife-y, lit candles & found some magical music on the radio because growing up that’s what she remembered watching her momma do.
The table was set, the lighting was good- it was time to put the finishing touches on supper. Chilled sweet tea, cornbread, beans and potatoes were just like he liked them…The FryDaddy temp was just right (you know the deep fryer that’s every heart doctor’s nightmare-yea that..) -it was time. One chicken finger, two, four & a few more…The teacher was feeling excited. The cowboy loved few things more than a home cooked hot meal. Another thing her momma was right about….
The cowboy was seated, smiling & ready for the piping hot meat to finish off the perfect meal when suddenly –a smell….The teacher was sure the temp was just right..all sides were on the table – nothing left to do but to check the chicken.
The teacher drew one chicken finger from the oil and gasp.
“What on earth?!!”
Absolutely certain it couldn’t have had time to burn… The teacher retrieved two then three then five. One just as black as the other. She was baffled and sad. When the cowboy asked,
“Where’s the lid?”
“The lid to what?”
It’s a good thing the cowboy was already smitten. A teacher she may have been. A Betty Crocker -she was not.