Dear Mother-in-law,
Thanks for watching the boys last night so that I could work my side job, the one that gives me the cash to pay for my hobbies. It's really nice to be able to do that sometimes.
I heard you fed the kids. Great. Three boys need to eat and hot dogs are always a winner. Glad you didn't use my brand new grill that I just put together last weekend. You're not good on the grill anyway, and honestly, I'm not ready to share it with anyone, including your daughter, and I know her intimately.
So, I see you didn't go boiled either. I grew up on hotdog soup, so that option would have been fine, but no, you fried them...in my cast iron.
When I came in and smelled the aroma, it actually got me a bit hungry, well done. Then I asked if you used soap on my precious iron. "Nope!" you quickly replied - at least she's learned one lesson. No one is allowed to use soap on my iron.
But then this morning, I'm going to whip up a few eggs for your daughter, she likes them "dippy". And I notice my pan. Kinda gray, like black and gray camo. Looks like you scrapped the snot out of it with either the spatula, tongs, or 80 grit to clean that sumbitch up last night. I do remember hearing you "hit it with some pam" when you were done. But the blackness that has taken me years to create, the number of pounds of bacon grease that have created that, that I have lovingly served to your grandsons, all scarred by one night of hot doggin.
I'll recover. That pan is older than me, we'll be fine. The kids loved their time with Grammy. I've got some hours under my belt so that next brewday can now happen.
Just please, stick to the teflon pan that your daughter uses. It's safer for both of us. Or just boil them next time.
Your oh so grateful Son-in-law.
Thanks for watching the boys last night so that I could work my side job, the one that gives me the cash to pay for my hobbies. It's really nice to be able to do that sometimes.
I heard you fed the kids. Great. Three boys need to eat and hot dogs are always a winner. Glad you didn't use my brand new grill that I just put together last weekend. You're not good on the grill anyway, and honestly, I'm not ready to share it with anyone, including your daughter, and I know her intimately.
So, I see you didn't go boiled either. I grew up on hotdog soup, so that option would have been fine, but no, you fried them...in my cast iron.
When I came in and smelled the aroma, it actually got me a bit hungry, well done. Then I asked if you used soap on my precious iron. "Nope!" you quickly replied - at least she's learned one lesson. No one is allowed to use soap on my iron.
But then this morning, I'm going to whip up a few eggs for your daughter, she likes them "dippy". And I notice my pan. Kinda gray, like black and gray camo. Looks like you scrapped the snot out of it with either the spatula, tongs, or 80 grit to clean that sumbitch up last night. I do remember hearing you "hit it with some pam" when you were done. But the blackness that has taken me years to create, the number of pounds of bacon grease that have created that, that I have lovingly served to your grandsons, all scarred by one night of hot doggin.
I'll recover. That pan is older than me, we'll be fine. The kids loved their time with Grammy. I've got some hours under my belt so that next brewday can now happen.
Just please, stick to the teflon pan that your daughter uses. It's safer for both of us. Or just boil them next time.
Your oh so grateful Son-in-law.