El Pollo Loco...

Tonight I had dinner with my mother and grandmother. I was kind of nervous because I never know what kind of a mood my mother will be in. Before I even arrived she thought I had died. Apparently she tried to call me today to confirm plans, and when I didn't answer my cell phone she assumed I was desd. No joke, she really thought I was lying dead in a morgue somewhere. We talked before I arrived, and it went okay. I am glad I didn't just arrive because she might have had a heart attack thinking I was a zombie (my mother reads a lot of horror stories and has a weak grasp on reality).

Surprisingly enough dinner went well. I would go so far as to call it nice. As I was leaving my grandmother made me a to-go bag of food. My grandmother is constantly worried that I am in dire need of boxed rice dishes. So she says, "I have chicken would you like it?" I respond with, "Sure, so long as I can freeze it (I hate to cook so I put it off for as long as possible)." To which she tells me the story of the chicken.


Apparently she got it from a neighbor. She says, "He's given us chicken before and it was..." And then she made the face of someone with food poisoning, and did this thing with her hands that let me know that this chicken fought against the dying of the light. My grandmother, the woman who I thought loved me beyond anything, gave me bad chicken! So I smiled as I took it from her, said thank you, and hugged her. It may be my last hug if I eat that god-forsaken frozen meat, so I made it count. I need to go now and throw away el pollo el muerto. Remind me to tell you one day about the casserole...