Thursday, August 16, 2007

A Mother's Work is Never Done

I call my sister.

"Oh!" she exclaims towards the end of our conversation. "I have a question for you." She's been visiting her boyfriend and wants to cook dinner for he and his roommate. "They have frozen, boneless chicken breasts. What can I make with that?"

"Ummm," I say, thinking. "The DNB usually grills chicken for us."

"The boys don't have a grill, though," she points out.

"Okay, you could do that thing where you dip them in bread crumbs and bake them," I suggest.

"Well, I was thinking about, what is it called? broiling them?"

"Isn't broiling cooking fast at the top of the oven, though?" It's clearly the blind leading the blind. She has an excuse, though, because having been an R.A. at her college, she hasn't lived on her own yet.

We both pause.

"You know I don't cook, right?" I ask her.

"Yeah," she replies.

We sit in silence again.

"Maybe you should call Mom."

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