Tuesday, July 26, 2011

The Secret Lives of Husbands (or The Tale of Chicken Nibble)

Ladies, how many of you find that the more your husband talks, the more you realize you really don't know that much about him? That he's had all of these secret adventures that, for some BIZARRE reason, he didn't think were worth mentioning?

I am so there right now.

I remember my mom telling me that, even after nearly 30 years of marriage, she was still learning new things about my dad, how one year he paid his college tuition in pocket change just to irritate the administration , how he hitchhiked home and caught a ride with a famous football player , how, as a kid, he used to try to turn toads into paratroopers, and other tales of fabulous that have yet to be discovered.
P.S. My dad is AWESOME.

Early on in our dating relationship, my mom began commenting on how much Chris resembles my dad . . . and it's true. Sure, they have their differences, but all in all, I married my dad with dark hair (Ssshh! Don't tell either of them I said that!), So, like Daddy, the hubs has secrets.
And he's a great story teller.
Nothing beats the well-told tale of a secret adventure.

Now, before I tell this story, I need to give some disclaimers:
  1. The hubs is NOT a psychopath
  2. The hubs is NOT cruel to animals . . . except for the occasional hunting trip . . .
  3. The hubs does, however, have a powerful sense of justice
  4. So, if you are animal, mineral, vegetable, and you wrong someone the hubs adores, watch out. He's coming to get you. 
Ok, now keep these in mind as I tell you the story that simultaneously shocked and humored me.

"Chris, there's a bumper sticker that says 'I brake for Oviedo Chickens.' What the crap does that mean? Are they vegetarian? Is that a football team or what?"
"Haha! You don't know about the chickens?"

Ok, peeps, anyone who hasn't lived in Oviedo for generations has no idea about the "famous" chickens. And they probably could care less. The quirks of town pride.

"Well, there are these wild chickens that live in the Popeye's parking lot downtown. Yeah, the fast-food chicken place.  Irony, right? Anyways, you're going through the drive thru, and you have to stop because some hen and her chicks will walk right in front of your car like they own the place. They kind of do--been there for years.  Haha, if one restuarant had no excuse for skimping on good meat, it's that place. Seriously, the meat there had better be super fresh. Ha!"

I didn't know whether to laugh or be disgusted. Seriously, famous chickens? At a restuarant that serves their dead and fried relatives? But really . . . chickens? So famous that they are the icon of the town, on every "Welcome to Oviedo" sign? Chickens?

"Did I ever tell you the chicken story?"
"Well," Chris begins, "I knew this guy . . . who had a cousin he was good friends with . . ."
"You and Joe, right?"
"Stop interrupting and maybe."

So the story goes, that the world's sweetest grandmother, we'll call her M, went to the bank next to the chicken Popeye's and was unjustly attacked.
By a chicken.
Sweet, sweet M, who would never hurt a living creature, went home wounded and bewildered and related her death-defying flight from the viscious man-eating chicken to her grandson Joe. Now, Joe is the kind of guy you want on a road trip--he's witty, laid-back, free-spirited, and impulsive with the knack for turning almost anything into an adventure. So when M told Joe of her wounds, he jumped into action, calling up a posse that included his ever faithful sidekick, Chris. Dun-dun-dun!

Imagine if you will, a handful of teenage boys hopping into Chris's old, giant green Bronco and whizzing off into the night, embarking on a covert ninja mission of revenge.
Against a chicken.
They arrive at their destination and sniff out the offending bird. How they knew it was THE chicken, I don't know, but Chris assures me no innocent birds were harmed in the creation of this tale. No, they only ninjaed the guilty, blood-thirsty fowl. 

Have you ever driven while trying to hold a chicken? Or drive while someone tries to hold a chicken in the backseat?
Neither have I, but Chris tells me it's not fun. That the bird is loud and refuses to be still, that it pecks, flaps and attacks with its large, sharp talons (I dare you NOT to think of the Napoleon Dynamite quote right now).  So the boys decided to solve the problem with great resourcefulness and ingenuity: they applied a leather belt to its neck.
To me, this screams instant death to a creature with small hollow bones and delicate constitution. I guess the guys thought that it would serve as more like a leash? or a gag? I don't know. Somehow, they were surprised that after it went LIMP and silent and was consequently tossed in the trunk, that it turned out to be dead.
No kidding.

Not that the chicken's death foiled their plans. No, they continued to drive out to the middle of nowhere, in the dark, to a restuarant famous for housing a live twelve-foot gator.

Let me interrupt for a moment. Anyone who KEEPS an aggressive, carniverous reptile twice the size of a grown man is insane. I'm of the opinion that meat-eaters THAT big in close contact with humans should be shot on sight. In isolated unhumanized portions of the world, sure let them live. But don't keep them as pets and or mercifully relocate large aggressive creatures to places like Lake Jessup where there are 10,000 of the monsters lurking in the water, waiting for some unsuspecting meatbag to come within reach. Ugh. Hate gators. "Now," you say, "Remember, they're more scared of you than you are of them."
I'm sorry, but that's complete and total bull. I'm dinner. Are you afraid of your cheeseburger? No? I didn't think so. I'm the cheeseburger, and I'm bloody terrified.

End soapbox. Back to the story.

So here they are, a handful of teenage guys, intent of revenge and blood (that's the BEST kind of revenge, right?), and there it is: a monstrous mound of scales, muscle and teeth, floating in its tank, lethargic and, as every massive creature is, hungry.
Really, monsters never stop eating right? There's ALWAYS an appetite.
The guys found this out the hard way when they tossed in the chicken carcass. The plan was to throw in a LIVE chicken and enjoy the show of thrashing, screeching, blood, guts, and feathers.
Yeah, not so much.

Turns out the gator wasn't hungry. Wasn't even remotely interested in the meat floating next to its snout. Dead flesh? Who wants to eat it dead? Warm, pumping blood that's where it's at. Stupid teenage humans.
I'm assuming that, if it were capable of thought, this is what must have been going through the reptile's head . . . but I'm very likely wrong.

After the initial shock of the incredible BORING state of the situation, and hovering, hoping, for some action, the guys realized that the evidence of their crime was floating around in clear sight.
And so they ran off into the night, laughing.

Has your significant other or a friend ever revealed the story of an unexpected, secret adventure? 


  1. hahaha oh man. funny boys. evan just tells me the same stories over and over again. i don't think there's a story i haven't heard 43 times. but i love the idea that you will still be getting to know each other after 30 years! so sweet =]

    and florida is weird. you should come to mt. i think we'd be real good real life friends! =]

  2. This had me laughing! You're a good story teller too! Felt like I was right there chanting for some justice for that monstrous chicken! Attacking a Grandma? I mean really!
    hahaha...it was good fun, good post :)


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