When I was a boy I did not like chicken. There wasn’t a meat besides hamburger that really appealed to me, but chicken was right out. My mom probably cooked it because it was inexpensive to feed a family of 5 with chicken instead of steak and Lobster. However, I was not a big fan and so I took every oportunity to complain and gripe.

One night my dad was not home from school yet (my dad was in school for much of my youth, at least before I was a teenager) and my mom stepped out of the dining room for a moment. Not being keen on chicken I took that oportunity to slide the sliding glass door open and race to the trash can and dispose of the chicken I had been served. Brilliance. How could I lose for clearing my plate?

Well, for starters there was no chicken bone on my plate. That drumstick had a bone down its center that clearly made up a non-edible piece of chicken. My mom, not being as dumb as I had for some reason anticipated, asked me if I had eaten my chicken [I should not quickly that she most likely heard the door open and close]
“Yes,” I answered.
“Where is the bone?”
“Um… I ate it.”

I don’t recall the conversation after this point, but I do know that my mom went out to the trash can and found the chicken in it. I was punished with having to eat two pieces of chicken. Doh! The moral of the story should be something whittier than “don’t lie,” except that its not. At least she didn’t make me eat the chicken I had thrown away!