Weeds in a Box

“Are you buying these weeds somewhere or are they coming out of the box?” Mom asked during dinner.

I paused for a moment to process the question.  Weeds?  Box?  Oh, wait, she must be talking about the lettuce we served with dinner and picked from our raised garden.

“They aren’t weeds,” I finally answered.  “It’s lettuce from the garden.”

“We feed you lots of different things, but weeds aren’t one of them,” Bill piped in.

“I didn’t say weeds,” she retorted.  “I said leafs.”

“Okay then, leafs from the box, that’s what it is.  Do you like them?” I asked.

“Argh er hmmph,” she responded around a mouthful of chicken schnitzel.

“I’ll be optimistic and take that as a yes,” I muttered.

“What’s this other stuff?” she asked a minute later, pointing with her fork to what was left of her schnitzel.  “Is it some kind of fish?”

I sighed as I watched Bill hastily shovel in his last bite of German potato salad and quickly leave the room with his empty plate.

“No, Mom, it’s not fish.  It’s some kind of chicken.” I replied.

“Oh,” she said, and then paused to process my answer while I stood up to join Bill in the kitchen.

“What kind is it?” she finally asked as I walked past her.

“German chicken.  It’s called Schnitzel.”

“Oh.  Okay, I guess,” I could hear her murmur.  “But, it still tastes like fish.”



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