Purple chicken

You ever had one of those unexplainable spurts of inspiration telling you that you should do something really, really stupid even though you know it’ll turn out badly? Your rational brain may tell you “No! Don’t jump off the roof and plan to land in the pool! It won’t work out that way!” but somehow, you have to anyways. My mom had one of these days last year and it didn’t go too well.



(Yes, my mom and I are about the same height - A whole 5'1")



)It started when my mom found that we had nothing to marinade a pack of chicken in. This little dilemma at hand, she decided she was Betty Crocker and left the chicken to marinade in… raspberry vinaigrette. Y’know, salad stuff. Later that day rolled around and my mom, feeling rather proud of herself and her fruity, meaty creation, put the chicken in a skillet to cook. We waited in the kitchen for a while, letting it do its thing. A few minutes later, we took the lid off the pan to find that the chicken had turned a bright, vibrant purple color. My mom and I stood for a moment, contemplating before both bursting into laughter so forceful that hardly any sound was coming out. This went on for about 10 minutes straight.

Hearing our heaving and air-deprived choking noises, my brother came into the kitchen, saw us quite literally rolling around on the tile with faces as purple as our supposed dinner and went to investigate for himself. Being him, he chuckled and went on with his life.  It was maybe a half hour later that me and my master chef mom were able to compose ourselves enough to dump out the ridiculous purple chicken.

We certainly weren’t about to eat it. Who knows, maybe it would have been good. Then again… Maybe not.