So Yeshiva Bochur Son decided that every night of chanuka he has to eat as many latkes as that night. According to the number. Conversation:
YBS: " Hey, Ma, I don't smell a certain Matzav going on in the kitchen"
ME: "and in real life English that translates to..."
YBS: "What?! No latkes? It's the first night! I think L'choira you're shterring my oineg chanuka"
ME: "You want 'em, you make 'em. I just got my sheitel done and this shirt is dry clean only. Do you know how badly everything smells like rancid oil when you stand in front of a frying pan? I nearly gag when I have to carpool after chanuka suppers and the car fills up with kids who reek like fried garlic and fried oil and fried fries and other smelly greasy foods. Ugh, my stomach is roiling and heaving and..."
HUSBAND WHO RARELY CONTRIBUTES BUT HAS HAD ENOUGH: "let him make them"
* note * this is why I blog. Who can have a conversation with someone who talks like this? four words??
YBS: "K, I am doin' it. Where's the grinding zach?"
ME: "In the storage zach called a CABINET"
I must admit he did a great job, putting out all the ingredients first, following the recipe in the Kosher Pallate, only stopping to shout
YBS:" I am parched! Any mashkeh around here?"
Of course my newly cleaned kitchen reeked like fried latkes, but everyone was happy. And happy kids make happy Moms.
So tonight, night 3, he comes in:
YBS: "the mitzva of oil is zicher not only in salad, Ma, we gotta have Latkes. And it is the third night, so I need to eat three. And you didn't make any last night, so I need two more. Lemaisa you should grada thank me for making supper"
I did. They smelled awful and everyone was happy.
Tomorrow I will make donuts. That has a different smell. (Not really, I just don't like potatoes)