In Which Irony Abounds

Yesterday was a busy day. A very busy day. Due to the busy-ness, lunch was not only eaten out, but in the van as we were driving from one destination to another. When fast food comes into play, as you may have guessed, we turn to That Cow Joint.

We went through one of the craziest drive thru set-ups I have ever been witness to, although it was amazingly efficient. The food was passed through the window, distributed to the girls, and we continued on our way.

A couple minutes into our prestigious lunch, Sarah Grace piped up.

'Mommy, I don't like to kill chickens.'

'Hmmm?' came my reply. She had caught me off guard, so I wasn't sure my ears had heard her correctly.

'I don't like to kill chickens. We shouldn't kill any more,' she stated as she took another bite of her chicken nugget.

'Well, where do you think the chicken you eat comes from, Gracie?'

'I don't know...'

'If you like to eat chicken, then people will have to keep killing them.'

Silence.

We continued to drive, and my mind soon went back to it's random ponderings and focusing on the road. I figured she was satisfied for now, and that perhaps she could do without the lesson in chicken killing for a few more months the rest of her life.

'Mommy?'

'Yes?'

'How do you kill a chicken?'

Or maybe the lesson should be added to the calendar a bit sooner.

I looked back at her to see that she was still happily chomping chicken, and again wondered if I had heard her right.

'What, honey?'

'How do chickens get killed?'

I gingerly explained the process and she replied appropriately with her face screwed up to show her disdain.

However, she never blinked as she popped the last bit of chicken in her mouth. That kid has an iron stomach, I do believe.

'Mommy, how do you kill french fries?'

Oh heavens, we gots us some learnin' to do round here!