Poopy Potatoes

For the first time in many years, RJ and I had the opportunity to travel and visit my beloved childhood friend, Sandy. For weeks before our much-anticipated trip, RJ fretted about the smoke alarms at their house and I would tell him there would be no smoke alarms. Even if Sandy and I were talking on the phone, we would have to reassure him there would be no smoke alarms making noise at her house. Smoke alarms are a major source of anxiety and meltdowns for RJ. On our drive down, RJ brought the subject up frequently. For 3-1/2 hours, I constantly reassured him that “Uncle” Sandy is an awesome cook – and her smoke alarms NEVER go off.
We arrived safely and settled in for a lovely visit with Sandy and her husband Tim. The first thing RJ did was look for ceiling fans, then he scoped out where all the smoke alarms were. RJ did a great job in talking with Tim. Of course, RJ questioned the smoke alarms a lot. With lots of patience, love, and understanding, we convinced RJ that Uncle Sandy would NEVER set off her smoke alarms. She knows how to cook everything!
Uncle Sandy started cooking dinner. All the while, the all three of us continuously assured RJ that the smoke alarms would NOT go off. As dinner was cooking, I noticed Sandy becoming a bit nervous. Then windows started opening. Fans started coming on. Sandy came in and whispered something to Tim, and he went into the kitchen with her. I started smiling.  Now I was smelling smoke. I looked at RJ. Too late. He had caught it, too. I went into the kitchen and of course, RJ was right behind me – fretting all the way. I saw Tim waving his hands below the smoke detector. Sandy was waving a magazine in front of her stove. I started laughing. Way to go, Uncle Sandy. First time in history you set off a smoke alarm – and it’s when RJ is here. Fortunately, “Santa” loaded the Rhapsody music app onto  RJ’s new phone. Thinking quickly, we turned the volume up full blast and shooed him down into the man cave, where there are no smoke alarms. 

A major catastrophe was avoided for RJ Christmas Day. Sandy’s dinner was delicious – even the potatoes. As we sat eating, RJ looked at her and said, “Uncle Sandy…how come your smoke alarms almost went off? Why did you do that!?!?! What did YOU do!?!?!” And Sandy’s response made me laugh even more that day. She calmly looked at him – not missing a beat – and said, “Your Mom brought the potatoes for me to cook. Her potatoes pooped in my oven.” Simple as that. It was the potato’s fault.
Moral of the story: Don’t let Uncle Sandy cook sweet potatoes you take to her house, or she will blame them for pooping in her oven. Really, that’s just what she said. The potatoes–MY potatoes–pooped in HER oven. And to this day if you ask her about it, it was my damned potatoes fault. Yes, I’m still lmao at this one. 

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published.