Tuesday, January 22, 2013

Frank N. Furter is Missing!

Is it considered inappropriate to put your wiener on a milk carton?

Wiener, frankfurter, tube steak, hot dog...by any other name, would it still taste like ambrosia to my husband Hick?

As you may recall from your unannounced visit last night, the Thevictorian supper menu was chili. That's right. Chili. With a side of slaw for those who desired a green vegetable. Because all I ever needed to know about meal planning I learned in the high school cafeteria, I knew that tonight's menu would be chili dogs. If it's good enough for public school children, it's good enough for us.

Imagine my surprise when I pulled out the meat drawer and found four hot dogs missing! Not that I count hot dogs. It was a brand new pack. One of those big packs, because I know how much Hick loves him some hot dogs. I bought them Friday evening. We have not had a meal including them. The zip-locked package had been opened. AND FOUR WERE MISSING! I started the inquisition.

"Hey! Who's been into the hot dogs?" The Pony was in the basement. I knew he couldn't hear me. Genius was still at school working on his robot for Saturday's competition. So he definitely couldn't hear me. Hick was on the living room couch.

"Is your mother talking to ME?" He hollered down to The Pony. Like I, in the kitchen, would not hear.

"Yes, I'm talking to you. Who has been into the hot dogs?"

"Well...I ate two last night."

"We had CHILI last night!"

"I wanted chili dogs with mine."

"You ate a bowl of chili AND chili dogs, or you just put it all together on a plate?"

"I put it all together."

"Why aren't your buns open?" I buy the whole-wheat buns for Hick. Then I feed them to the chickens at the end of the week.

"I used white bread."

"You are not supposed to have white bread! And there are FOUR hot dogs missing."

"Oh. I took two in my lunch. On those white buns."

"The ones you could only get by moving the wheat buns out of the way? I am going to quit wasting money on those."

Here's the point. Hick is a hot dog junkie. He can't resist them. Hide them under the celery and mushrooms for three weeks, and he'll still find them and eat them. So I don't buy them often. It's not like I want to count food or chain the door of the Frigidaire shut like I have a resident with insatiable appetite syndrome. I just want to have my logically-planned meals to progress through the week logically. Not have Hick eat chili dogs for supper, take chili dogs in his lunch, and then be served chili dogs for supper.

I don't know why I care. Hick would probably prefer hot dogs at every meal.


  1. Does Hick enjoy eating them right out of the package? Mrs. C. gives me a hard time when I do this claiming they're raw, but c'mon--they're already cooked!

  2. I only like hot dogs outdoors... at a picnic, or a ballgame;except for dirty water sabrett dogs from NYC push carts.

  3. Stephen is right. Hot dogs used to be one of my go-to's when I was a young mother. When they got old enough to toddle on their own, they were then ready to get their own lunch.

    "Grab a hot dog from the fridge, sweetie, and get a margarita for Mommy."

    Ah yes, good times...

  4. I forgot to say: This post made me travel back in time. It was like I was doing the Time Warp...

  5. It must be a guy thing. My hubby sneaks food, too. Chili dogs several days in a row. Should be smelling like the dead mouse post office around your house.

  6. Yes, why do we care? Guys don't. No wonder they die young and happy and we women hang around until we're wrinkled and crabby from trying to eat healthy---like they do at the school cafeteria.

  7. Stephen,
    Would it bother you to have chili dogs three meals in a row? Or would you exclaim, "Hallelujah! Chili dogs rule! I could eat them 'til the cows come home!"

    As for the raw hot dogs...Hick has not been observed standing in front of the fridge, eating them out of the package while the juice drips down his chin. Not to say that he HASN'T done so. He just was not seen.

    We have never experienced the New York Hot Dogs. That sounds like a good name for a sports team.

    They're pretty good cooked over a fire until they're blackened and crusty, with plenty of mustard, and a root beer chaser. The hot dogs, not the sports team.

    Is that "Joy" character from My Name is Earl based on YOU?

    I thank you for not throwing toast at me during your time travel episode.

    We would not have needed the peanut butter cheese trap malfunctioning guillotine had I only thought to serve this splendid repast during the bathroom vent light mouse infestation.

    Thank you so much for mentioning my mentor, the school cafeteria. I shall be serving pizza with a side of corn every Friday until May as a tribute.