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.
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!
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