Let Them Eat Chicken Wings OR "Buffaloed"

FIRST THINGS FIRST:

A free kitten
to anybody who leaves me a comment!

"I WAS FACED with a choice: if I didn't eat, I would offend my cannibal hosts; but if I ate, and, later on, Gary asked me how his foot tasted, I might have to lie and say it was great, even if it wasn't." --Jack Handey, My Big Thick Novel, Chapter 619

HAPPY
Jack Handey
FRIDAY on a Thursday!

"These are the times that try men's souls." --Thomas Paine, whose last name was that for a reason, and could easily be mine. Especially today.

MY MOTHER, Momsy, a name I refer to her as in my blog stories so as to protect her privacy, called this morning. In the guise of planning our Christmas get-together (Yeah, we're running a smitch late this year.), I'm pretty sure the call was rather all about her carrying out her life's mission, 57-years ago degreed by God(?) via the thundering mouth of Delivery Room Nurse Sr. Camillus de Lellis (I was born in a Catholic hospital.), the minute I sprang from Momsy's loins --OR SO GOES THE STORY.

I'll PROBABLY NEVER know the entire real "what was up" for sure. I DO however remember a booming penguin-type saying something important to my mother, that sounded like this to my then baby ears: "Uhn tu dosdae, yeshle dreivei yor sekintborn curraise ei tu thedge anoc assionalpu sherofur!" Since I had yet to learn "talking," for a few years thereafter, I could only assume the billowing Bride of Christ (<--Ew!? NO. Please don't tell me what that's all about. Truly, I'm NOT into religious Hokey-Pokey.) was speaking in some sort of weird Latin-y tongues, and kept myself busy eating and filling diapers, until such time when I had a better command of the English language.

UH-HUH, I'LL NEVER FORGET that day back in 1957: As Momsy continued to strangely bring me up--this go-round, with a finger pointing at the clock, she was insisting I literally give her the time of day, even though I was just three years old and hardly knew my numbers!--I would simultaneously and finally put two and two together to realise what the medical nun had actually prescribed to my mother as she blotted me free of birthing goo, prior to swaddling me on my first birthday: "Unto this day, ye shall drive your second-born crazy-to-the-edge, and ocassionally push her over!"

TO THIS DAY, I don't know why, but on April 10, 1954, Sister de Lellis was indeed channeling someone

or something,
and that's what she coughed up.
Unfortunately for me,
Momsy bought it
hook, line and sinker.
. . . . . . .

HM. Where was I?
OH, YEAH:

Momsy and SparkleFarkle
on the Phone Today

[telly rings]

SPARKLEFARKLE: (hesitates as Caller ID indicates it's Momsy, then watches doomsday-y cloud form overhead before picking up cell) H-hello?
MOMSY: (excitedly ready to place an order, even though "Christmas" won't be here until nine days from now) I'll order pizzas from Ma Ma Judy's [a feedbag located 60 minutes outside of where she lives, so there's a good chance they'll be luke warm, if not cold, by the time they're delivered] and chicken wings!
SPARKLEFARKLE: Are you talking about our Christmas party menu? (Wait, pizzas? Chicken wings?) *shoulder-crooking phone to ear, quickly ransacks book shelves in search of holiday traditions atlas to verify if those two items are indeed listed, but comes up book-short* I thought we were going to cook.
MOMSY: I'll need sizes and toppings. Your sister loves chicken wings! They're a big thing, you know. They take the wings and cut them to look like drumsticks, but they're not wings. No, they're drumsticks. Wings aren't used at all. It is chicken, but it's their legs. Not their arms. I think. So, what can I put you down for?! "Hot"? "Spicy"? "Hot and Spicey"? I hear the sky's the limit with these things. They're big right now, you know. You probably haven't heard of them. Your sister has. She loves them! Drumsticks they're called.
SPARKLEFARKLE: (even though silently annoyed because obviously-not-of-this-world Momsy for years cooked food for her family, so you'd think she'd know her children's likes and dislikes, and is also well aware of the fact that I haven't eaten meat of any kind but especially chickens (<--They'll walk through "anything," I tell ya!), ever since my Knuckle Matt and I were commissioned to paint that "in violation" stock removal place/dog food "factory," nearly 35 years ago, yet she would rather pretend we just met, in order to satisfy her craving for pizza and chicken wings (<--I know. I know. My sister "loves chicken wings! They're a big thing, you know.") on "Christmas Day"--so as not to make waves, politely responds-->) Um, actually, I don't care for Buffalo wings.
MOMSY: (completely dismissing my daughter Puppet, whom she hasn't "seen" since the child's birth, because being that she is her second-born granddaughter--you know, the kind that will never measure up to her put-on-a-pedestal first-born grandkid? And, mind you, altogetherly, she's only got two grandchildren--and "came" from me, it's just easier for Momsy to consider her "invisible." Well,

conVEEEnient?!)

You mean drumsticks. Your sister loves chicken wings! They're a big thing, you know. I'm sure Billy (<--my husband, the pickiest eater alive who wouldn't eat a finger-food to save his life) will like them. I'll need to know who wants what kind. I'll be calling them [the in-a-land-far-away restaurant] this afternoon to see how many buckets to get. Maybe nine or ten? Better make it an even dozen. (NOTE: Our Christmas mealtime headcount only totals 8. And God only knows how many pizzas she'll be ordering, too.) Can you imagine? Little drumsticks! Your sister's going to love this! They're a big thing, you know.
SPARKLEFARKLE: *scans room for that misplaced rat's arse she could give, but comes up short in that department as well* (feigning excitey because, after all, it is Christmas --the only one we're going to have this season) Don't forget, we'll be bringing the Christmas cookies!
MOMSY: Christmas cookies? Why ever would you do that?

SPARKLEFARKLE:
(FOUR WORDS)

"No, they're drumsticks. Wings aren't used at all." --Momsy
Chicken wings it is.
. . . . . . .

IT'S TRUE. In just such Momsy-instances, I could go stark raving mad. But I don't. Instead, I ask myself,

"What would Gilda do?"
And then I do it:

LAUGH!
Thanks for letting me

flap.

On a wing and a prayerly yours,
SparkleFarkle~~~~~*

Rest in peace, my Mollo, Zuzie and my hero who I miss every single day, Miss Radner, and remains my religion.

Image Credits
Cartoon = Cartoonstock.com
"drumsticks" = HERE
Father Thomas Paine = HERE
Church Lady and Gilda shots = SNL archives