SwampMan brought the boys home @ noon, or 30 minutes after I arrived home from my optometrist appointment.
“I have to go to the BANK!” SwampMan announced. He fixed me with the type of stare that Clint Eastwood would give a particularly loathsome bad guy in a spaghetti western that was about to become Purina Buzzard Chow. “And. I. am. going. ALONE.” Okay, then.
“Uh, have a good time, dear. I’ll make hot dogs for the kids.”
In the meantime, the boys were screaming and wrestling on the carpet. A thumb was purposely dislocated. I firmly relocated the boys outside. The boys decided that it was too cold to be outside, so they came back inside. They were relocated again. Then the oldest came back inside crying that the dog had knocked him down and he needed a BandAid. I let him know that BandAids were only for arterial spurting at MeeMaw’s house. We man up over mere oozing. Back outside to learn self control. The youngest grandson, Dylan, decided to help wrap hotdogs in bacon. The oldest grandson decided to open a package of KoolAid on the porch. *sigh* Bathtub time for both.
Okay. Lunch was a little strange. Hot dogs slit down the middle with ketchup squirted in, then wrapped in bacon, baked until bacon is all nice and crispy, then covered with chili, onions, and cheese. We had some wild rice to mix in, too. Tasted pretty good. (Hey, I make do with the ingredients on hand, okay?)
SwampMan got home from the bank, and said “where’s mine?” Hunh. I thought he was dining out. I made more, he ate them, and pronounced them good. “I woulda never thought that chili and wild rice would go together, but it does, in a weird sort o’ way.” Hey, I didn’t care if it “went” or not, I just had some hungry tummies to feed.