7/13/19 MASHED ‘TATER “WAR”

Addendum to yesterday’s “Corn Dog!” post: after the events described in that post, on that same day, I was on the phone with a good neighbor. Mrs. Appalachian Irishman was sitting in a kitchen chair, tapping her foot on the floor. She was itching for me to get off the phone, so she could kiss me and then, as her main priority, go to “check on” her Dad. He -- with sister-in-law and, now, again, niece, along with a “catdog” and three cats -- lives three miles away. Go, dear, go, I motioned! She jaw kissed me and rolled on, while I was still trying to wind down the call to a long-winded neighbor! Now that’s just funny!

So, what’s this mashed ‘tater war, you ask? Good! I’ll tell you! While Mrs. Appalachian Irishman was making certain, absolute certain, that her Dad was fine, as he was, my youngest brother sent me a text -- either way too late for dinner or way too early for supper -- stating that he was eating mashed potatoes and that I was not.

The challenge was on!
 

 

So, at the appropriate supper eating time, I took this photo of my plate, placed on an edge of the kitchen counter. Mrs. Appalachian Irishman sent my youngest brother the photo, in retaliation! Ha!

You know. I wonder. Why do all these people on “Farcebook” post photos of food that they are about to it? It’s just silly to me! Eat it! Don’t photograph it! Don’t post the photograph on “Farcebook!” Stop it!

Of course, as an Appalachian Irishman, raised in Upper East Tennessee, I eat mashed potatoes almost every day! By my Irish roots, I wish that I could have some form of potatoes (i.e., hash browns, baked, mashed, etc.) at every one of my usual three meals a day!

What is a “catdog,” you ask? Well, ask, and I’ll tell you!