"chicken"

Big fat tears ran down her face. She said my singing made her butt hurt. I had to admit it was a creative retaliation to my asking her to stop screaming (the girl is LOUD and it made my ears hurt). Planning a day such that she misses her nap leaves me laughing with regret every time.

We were stuck in the car together, she sobbing under her blanket and me singing because the radio didn't work. Then I attempted to distract her with a donkey that I knew was just a few miles down the road. Fail. She cried even harder imagining a "hee haw" was waiting for us in our own barn.

I suppose an ass could be a scary thing? And even more so if you've missed your nap?

I had no option left but to ponder silently on the use of the word "chicken".

See, if I mention I had left "chicken" in my entryway, you would think meat. Yes? Something in a plastic bag. You might ask if I should have put it in the fridge or the freezer. You might wonder if we're having an Italian or Chinese dish with chicken as an ingredient.

No fear, friends. The entryway is unheated. The "chicken" will still be nice and cold even if I've left it there. It's winter here in North Dakota, after all.

But if I were to say, hypothetically speaking only (of course), I had left "a chicken" in my entryway, this leaves no room for error.

You might even ask what her name is.





You might wonder what on earth she's doing in here. You might realize that wasn't quite what you meant to ask when I tell you:

She's been singing to her new friend for the last three hours.



You might correct yourself then and ask why she is in the entryway instead of the coop. And at that, I would remember exactly why this entire thing played out in my mind while the overtired Bean drama continued in the backseat.

Her butt hurts.



But it wasn't my singing, I'm sure of that.