Of Mice and Mayhem

A while back, as in several months ago, I referenced an unfortunate childhood incident relating to a tea party I hosted for my two younger sisters. Below is my mother's perspective on that whole thing. As I recall, my intentions were honorable and very innocent (I was trying to teach them table manners, for example), and everything was fine until Chesapeake Bay Mother arrived on the scene. But I'll let her tell her side. At least for now.
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By Chesapeake Bay Woman's Mother

I'm always amazed at the number of times in my life I have actually made a doctor laugh, and we certainly won't go into all of them here, but note that the older the physician, the more absurd it seems, unless of course you're four. I was more like 34 when Dr. Bowles lost it to my excited retelling of the events of the day of The Tea Party.

Let's start at the beginning. For Christmas, the three Chesapeake Bay Children received a table and chairs fashioned after a kitchen suite. It was in the basement where many of their play things had a home, including a china tea set.* I was involved in some meaningless chore,** when I suddenly missed the sounds of Chesapeake Bay Sisters at play--which would often times rival the bellows of a roomful of animals roasting on a spit. Mother had warned me, "If they're quiet, you'd better get movin', because they're up to something!" I rushed downstairs to discover my little dears all sitting at the table and using perfect manners to dine upon.....DECON! Yes, rat poison du jour.

I screamed and scared them into silence, which drove me into more panic. The more I pleaded, the silenter they were. So, Dr. Bowles heard from me. When he stopped laughing, he assured me that they probably didn't eat it, but if they did, etc. etc. And so it was a waiting game.

Well, they lived and so did I, but the day would come when history would see us all ask the question, "To puke or not to puke?" or "Can you make yourself puke without waking Daddy, who is still on the night shift and currently sleeping?"

Chesapeake Bay Oldest Daughter fried sausage and fed it to her sisters.*** I discovered it was not cooked in the middle and immediately assumed they would develop trichinosis (a parasite in undercooked pork) and so, off to vomit we went. All the resulting retching and crying**** did wake Daddy, who red-eyed, tousle-haired and not the least bit pleasant roared, "What the HE## is going on out here?"

What indeed. (CBW added these last two words. I felt it was necessary. I'm sure my mother can tell a story as well as the next person, but sometimes I just have to add stuff to it. I seriously do not have control issues. N.O. spells no, not me. -cbw)

- Chesapeake Bay Woman's Mother
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Additional Input and Much-Needed Clarification from Chesapeake Bay Woman:

* CBW's Note#1: Actually, the dinner ware was made of tin, not china. China would have been broken to smithereens within two seconds of us laying hands on it. This was a nice tin set of plates with a brown pattern and the daintiest little teacups and saucers you've ever seen. The Decon looked simply exquisite on the plates. I mounded it up just so.

** CBW's Note#2: Mindless chore in this instance was likely my mother watching The Guiding Light, followed by Match Game 76, while Chesapeake Bay Child babysat her two younger sisters. I was practicing cooking and serving them dinner, which was something I would need to know in the days,months and years to come. I was left to teach myself. See Note #3

*** CBW's Note #3: Yeah, I was left to teach myself how to cook, and I was so starved to death I broke open a roll of pork sausage ready to eat it right out the package but instead fried it up to a very crispy blackened outside only to find it medium rare on the inside. I saw no problem with it and enjoyed it immensely. I did not,however, enjoy retching in the back yard for no good reason.

****CBW's Note #4: I can assure you this was Middle Sister crying. I just know it. I can guarantee I wasn't crying over this whole thing. I thought the darn sausage tasted just fine and saw the entire exercise as useless and a huge waste of time and Night-Shift-Working-Daddy's precious sleep.

I would like it noted for the record that my cooking skills have greatly improved since these first attempts at hosting dinners. My table manners haven't, but at least I'm not serving up rat poison or raw pork anymore. I did eat some undercooked chicken once but I didn't make it.

Nor did I get sick, thank you very much.