Okay, this isn’t about Chicken Little. It’s mostly about chicken salad.
Maybe, a dash of Chicken Little.
Randy’s oldest daughter, husband and kids are visiting right now.
I love having these kids around. I’m also not used to being around little kids for extended period of time.
The youngest will turn 7 this Friday. She is precocious and whip smart. She’s also 6 years old.
She sat in my lap as we watched a Spiderman movie.
At one point, she sneezed about a billion times in a row, stuck her finger up her nose, then turned around and stroked my face and told me she loved me.
It was adorable. It’s also possible I have a sick day in my future.
Anyway, back to chicken salad.
Our visitors took off for a couple days to visit family in Indiana. They returned Sunday and I wanted to get some shopping done before they returned.
One of our favorite places to shop is Findlay market in Cincinnati.
Me: Hey, you want to go to Findlay market when they open? I want to get some tomatoes and nice chicken salad.
Randy: How do you know if chicken salad is nice or not?
Me: I’m perceptive when it comes to chicken salad.
Me: Yeah, I can tell if it’s nice or mean. I can tell if it’s aloof.
Me: Too many onions.
So, we got our chicken salad and a tiny brownie pie we hid from everyone. We bought fruits and vegetables and managed to get back home before the temperature rose to gates of hell levels.
I have my chicken salad for lunch at work next week.
And I’m really hoping the sky doesn’t fall.
I’ve been embroiled in a data issue which has no end in sight yet. It’s kicking my ass. My inner Chicken Little is in full on freak out mode.
And while we’re on the subject, I think we’ve all been too hard on Chicken Little.
Regardless of whether or not the sky was falling, Chicken Little believed it was.
Chicken Little obviously had a significant anxiety disorder and needed our compassion.
Wish me luck this week. I’m going to need it.
Also, I have the slightest tickle in my throat.
Photo courtesy of Detonator.