7-7-11 The Last Meal

Nick's wisdom teeth come out tomorrow, so he has to stop eating at midnight and cease any physical activity for the next week. You'd think it was a death sentence.

So he requested wings for dinner.

Three kinds: mild, medium, and honey BBQ. This is just for the two guys. Sammi is spending the night at a friends and I . . . . don't gnaw on bones. It's not that I can't, or even that I won't -- it's not a matter of will -- I just do.not.gnaw. When I was a kid I'd eat a chicken leg without getting close to the bone and get fussed at for "leaving all that good meat." Nope, sorry, not gnawing on bones.

But the pièce de résistance was the fried Three Musketeers bar, deep fried and covered in powdered sugar. Oohlala. That I could eat. (But didn't.)

Enjoy it now, bubba. He can't eat starting at midnight and the surgery isn't until 1:30 tomorrow afternoon. Cue the violins.