At a recent dinner with my two sisters, it occurred to me that their conversation would mystify anyone with a working right brain. Of course, it may well be that my middle aged, male brain is simply not agile enough to follow their discussion.
My older sister had made fried chicken and my middle sister remarked that she couldn’t remember the last time she had eaten real, honest-to-god fried chicken. This led them into a discussion of the health risks of fried versus grilled versus broiled chicken. Then my older sister asked if we remembered “apricot chicken,” a vile recipe that my mother made when we were kids and we all shuddered slightly. Apricot chicken was leftover chicken combined with Minute Rice and green peas and mixed with an entire jar of Smucker’s apricot jam which tinted the whole dish kind of yellow.
Now, my middle sister mentioned that she had wanted to paint her house in an apricot hue but she was afraid it would be too yellow, because she really hates the color yellow. My older sister remarked that she wanted to paint her house the color of cappuccino, but my middle sister told her to be more specific because otherwise she could well end up with a frappe or a latte and then where would she be?
My older sister got a bottle of Starbucks iced cappuccino from her refrigerator and said that this was the exact color she wanted and my middle sister said that she thought Dunkin Donuts coffee was way better than Starbucks because Starbucks coffee was just too strong.“I don’t really like coffee,” said my older sister as she unscrewed the cap and took a long sip.
“Then why do you buy it?” I asked.
My older sister shrugged. “It was on sale,” she said. She took another sip and grimaced.
This made no sense to me, but before I could say anything else my middle sister announced, “I don’t like eggs.” My older sister said accusingly that at Easter she distinctly remembered seeing my middle sister eat a hard-boiled egg, which led to a discussion of poached versus fried versus over-easy and my middle sister said that what she meant was that she really hated omelets because they were too “egg-y.”
In response, my older sister said she hated American cheese. My middle sister countered by saying she hated all yellow cheese.
My older sister swallowed the chicken she was chewing. “Do you think Donald Trump uses Botox?” she asked. Accustomed as I am to my sisters’ grasshopper talk, I never saw that one coming.
“Cousin Dom looked just like Mike Pence,” said my middle sister. “He was a necrophiliac,” she added for my benefit. “He actually lost his license because of it.”
“Was he a mortician?” I asked, curious.
My older sister shook her head. “No, he was a plumber. That man would just pass out and fall asleep without warning. After he wrecked a couple of cars they took away his driver’s license and he lost his job. Everyone in that family was a necrophiliac,” she added.
My middle sister never missed a beat, “Do you think I need a face lift?” she asked. She put one hand on either side of her face and pulled back so tightly that she looked like she was wearing a Halloween mask.
My older sister wisely ignored this; she saw that there was one tiny piece of chicken left on the platter and now she put it on my middle sister’s plate. “Finish this,” she said.
My middle sister put the chicken back on the platter. “I’m full,” she said.
My older sister gave it back and said, “It’s too small to save.” My middle sister said, “I need to stop eating. And no more dessert for me. My butt is getting huge,” but she ate the chicken anyway. “You don’t have a big butt,” said my older sister. “Besides you look good with the extra weight.”
“The pool man found a dead rat in the skimmer,” said my middle sister.
My older sister shuddered and launched into the story, which we have all heard many times, of when she found a dead squirrel in the gutter but she stopped short midway through the gory details. She glanced at the table by the front door. “Is that a new purse?” she asked, and my middle sister nodded.
“What color is it? Ecru?” asked my older sister, squinting in the dim light. “It’s yellow,” said my middle sister.
“But I thought you hated yellow?” I asked innocently.
“Hullo,” said my middle sister, “Sale at Macy’s!” and my older sister nodded knowingly and went to get dessert.