I have people in my family who will take a piece of chicken, put it on a plate, come out and sit beside me watching some show on the porch TV and when I look over I will see a plate of BONES. Other people in my family do the same thing, minus the stuff following “put it on a plate”. I find plates of bones in the chicken.

It is beyond me how anyone can suck on a chicken bone, gnaw at it until there is not a shred of anything but bone left. My mother could eat a nicely-cooked chicken  piece like that, but even she was no match for some in a younger generation. One good thing, Cameron mentioned sucking the marrow out of it, so I am hoping he was making a reference to Thoreau. Please, let it me that.

I can eat chicken in tiny bits but it has to have no grease and be nice and fluffy. This is what some have called overdone; I call it fluffy. But if it had a bone in it, then it would be no go – fluffy or not.

Somewhere along the line, I lost the chicken-eating, finger-licking good gene. Personally, I think that is a positive step on the evolutionary path, but as I indicated, I keep that opinion fairly personal – only expressed with family.

Still, when rotisserie chickens are on sale, I buy them because it makes so many people here feel happy and their stuffed mouths are quiet. As for me, I just listen to the quiet and don’t look at the plates. Of course, when they start on the bone sucking thing, I have to give them the look or leave.

Last night, in the kitchen, Cameron and Summer were teasing me by pretending to chase me as if they were zombies with their awful greasy fingers. Cameron inadvertently touched a strand of my hair . . . and I went ballistic with panic. I HAVE CHICKEN GREASE ON MY HAIR!!!!!!! and running around type of ballistic. It was terrible. They much have gotten the idea I had gone off the deep end because they stopped . . . but they kept laughing.

And, do you know what? Alison remembered that my mother had her own rotisserie and, gee, we could just roast out own big chickens. Auuuuuggggghhhhh. Maye I can convince her Mother had taken it out in the yard to clean and it rusted during the winter and was crushed by the tree. Probably not.

I can honestly say I don’t know where it is . . . exactly. I imagine the heat we are having will further cloud my memory.

Frankly, I think they need a chicken-eating designated spot or I need a padded room. They would probably pipe in a continuous loop of recorded bone-sucking and finger-licking.