When Mondays Are Sticky Topics

Some awaken to alarm clocks.

With others, it might be birds chirping, the sun rising, a dog stirring, your 17-year-old son cooking teriyaki chicken and rice — how one chooses to embrace the wild and wonder of another day is his or her business, really.

In my case, my wonder was <sniff sniff> “What is that smell?”

At 5:54 a.m.

So I rolled out and into my fuzzy socks, trudging into the kitchen, bleary eyed, to the sight of my son whistling and setting a pan in the sink.

The conversation went a little like this:

Me: “What in holy hell are you doing?”
Him: “Cooking my lunch.”
Me: “First of all, it’s breakfast time — you know, breakfast, right? Those little chicken biscuit things you throw in the microwave and get on with your life? Breakfast. And second, it’s 5:56 IN THE MORNING, FOR CRYING OUT LOUD!”
Him: “No, it’s for my lunch. So it’s ready when I walk in the door today. I don’t have much time. They only give us about 20 minutes, which is ridiculous if you ask me. How is anyb— …”
Me: “Wait, let me get this straight. The two of us sat over there <pointing to living room> all day yesterday, doing nothing but watching football and napping and petting dogs and eating fried chicken — yet it never occurred to you at any point yesterday that perhaps that might be a better time to make your teriyaki chicken and rice?”
Him: “No.”
Me: “Not once?”

Him: <shrug>

Only there was no such discussion.

Because this is year No. 17 of This Kid.

So I simply rinsed out the French Press while he walked out of the kitchen, telling me “You’re going to want to let that pan soak. It’s sticky.”

Whistling.

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