I say chicken, you say country fried steak.

If you ever call my phone and I don’t answer or the sound is a bit muffled, don’t be alarmed. It probably just means I’ve shut it in a door somewhere or launched it in the air with a lanyard. It is all part of the cell phone durability test group in which I participate and, currently, I am the chair and only member. I offered my services to my cell phone provider, but they were not interested. They did, however, ask if I was interested in adding insurance to my plan.

Luckily, my phone still worked after shutting it in the car door and, to my surprise, I had a text message from Cheekiss. I haven’t heard from her in some time and she was hoping to get together. I invited her to join OregganO, Dr. BJ, MiniMe and I to look at houses for Dr. BJ. She excitedly agreed.

After looking at houses, OregganO returned home to the comfort of Cream of Tartar’s arms and ham (close to Arm and Hammer, but different). The rest of us went to our favorite sushi restaurant. Dr. BJ suggested we ask about the ingredients in the sweet potato roll, like he did last time, and I suggested he ask about the Christmas Tree roll. We have a feeling it is an Oregon fir, but we’re not sure if it is prelit. Nice thing about this sushi place is their menu item descriptions typically match what you get to a T.

This time, however, when the rolls came out, we noticed one of MiniMe’s rolls was not what she had ordered. “Remember when we went out to breakfast and she (MiniMe) got her country fried steak and said, ‘this is wrong, I ordered steak’?” Cheekiss asked. “Yes, I remember. To her defense, country fried steak hasn’t been a common menu item in my home,” I replied and added, “And you must admit, it is a bit confusing to refer to chicken as steak.” My favorite MiniMe food story involves hamburgers. We were talking about eating one and she told us she doesn’t eat them because she is a vegetarian. “You eat cheeseburgers,” my brother-in-law reminded her. “Right,” MiniMe confirmed. “Cheeseburger, not hamburger. Cheese, ham, there is a difference.” 

As we were talking about the different foods we ate while growing up, Dr .BJ shared an interesting tidbit with us, “When I was little, I thought white people pooped white. I remember being in the bathroom when I was about six years old and not wanting the white kid next to me to flush so I could see the color of his poo.” “Very interesting,” I commented. “What color was your poo?” “Brown,” Dr. BJ answered. “Based on your theory, shouldn’t it be black?” “Good poo point,” Dr. BJ conceded.