So this afternoon I'm getting dinner started, and asked the kid to pass out some kitchen scraps to the chickens as she passed by. After last weekend's chicken butt trimming I've been keeping a close eye on the fertility of the eggs I've been cracking for cooking--I'd been seeing anywhere from a 50% to a 25% fertility rate. Today they were three for three, all fertile! Great job, boys!
So she grabs the little dish with the eggshells and a few other odds and ends in it, and casually asks what I'm doing as she cruises out the back door.
"Getting ready to cut an onion." I tell her.
I get a grunt of acknowledgement in return. I realize onions aren't all that exciting at the best of times, though.
"We who are about to cry, salute you!" I call out as the screen door closes, thumping my chest with the handle of the knife. She actually opens it again just to give me the classic teenage eyeroll and sigh "Really, mom?" before leaving again.
"Hey," I grumble. "You try and come up with an onion joke on the spur of the moment."