After finding out that I was making “smashed” potatoes and gravy to go along with the ribs I had cooked in the Crock Pot last Sunday after church, Mr. B ran into his room and came out with his guitar. Standing there in his chonies, he put one leg up on the chair, rested his guitar on it, and started strumming away.
Because I was using the mixer to “smash” the potatoes, I couldn’t hear the words clearly, but I thought he was singing, “I love you, Mom, Mom, Mommy!”
“Wow,” I replied, turning off the mixer and setting it on the counter, “That was such a sweet song!”
Mr. B’s brow furrowed as he looked at me and asked why I thought it was sweet.
“Well, because you were singing to me and saying, ‘I love you, Mom, Mom, Mommy’.”
“That’s not what I was singing!” he giggled and smiled that impish grin and said, “I was singing to the potatoes, ‘I love you, yum, yum, YUMMY!!”
Right, I know where I stand. Right behind the potatoes. Pass the gravy, will ya?