Just because you plop a man in front of a bbq grill, stick tongs in his hand, and slap some meat on the surface, it doesn’t necessarily mean that he knows what he is doing.
This was never more evident than last Sunday when we went to the picnic.
There was chicken and hot dogs on the grill, and we were kinda excited about the chicken.
We know that even if you slap chicken on the grill, sans seasoning, if it is cooked right, it can be juicy and delicious.
The picnic might be saved after all.
As the chips and I sat watching “Mr. BBQ” grill the meat, the girl pipes up and says to us “Mom, should he be jabbing the chicken like that?” and we watched in horror, yes Internet, horror as he mutilated the boneless, skinless, defenseless, chicken breast. Was he trying to kill it again? or did he enjoy eating something that resembled chicken, but tasted more like shoe leather?
It also became very evident to me, at that very moment, that I am a food snob.
A shallow food snob.
When it was time to eat, we got in line and right in front of me, “Mrs. BBQ” dumped a fresh plate of meat onto the platter.
Not only was I going to get hot meat, but low and behold there was a piece of chicken that didn’t have any black on it.
God has a lovely sense of humor, and always knows how to bring down those who are shallow and snobbish.
I balanced my plate on the edge of the table to reach for some chips (’cause you can’t ruin store bought chips) and the weight of that lovely piece of hot chicken shoe leather without any char caused my plate to fall. to. the. ground.
I was brought low, Internet. Low, and humbled.
Lord, I’m sorry that I dissed the hot dogs. Sorry that I grumbled about the heat, and sorry that I made a small dessert, chopped tit into tiny bits, and put them in tiny cup cake liners to make it look like I brought more.
For dessert, Stuffmart provided a huge sheet cake.
It was really cute. It was decorated like a picnic blanket with these little 2 inch ants all over it.
My family, knowing my abhorrence for all things creepy and crawly, thought they’d have some fun.
At my expense.
And they brought them home.
To stick them in places where I wouldn’t expect, (like icing I was putting on a birthday cake, or on my mouse, or under my napkin) to scare me.
Lord, I said I was sorry, already.