Mashed Potatoes

“Make me mashed potatoes.”

“You make ‘em, it’s 10 PM.”

“I’m worn out,” the General says.  “I used all my skills to make a milkshake.  I’m exhausted.” 

She sees she’s not getting anywhere with words.  She walks by and blocks the TV we’re watching with a box of mashed potatoes.  One of us, Charlie or me, has to get up and move it or we’ll never know which designer on HGTV will fill some rich guy’s gorgeous loft with uncomfortable furniture.

“Thanks,” she says sarcastically.  “You’re good parents.”

“You’re welcome,” Charlie says. 

I made her dinner, exactly what she wanted, hours ago.  I gave up saying ‘you catch more flies with honey than with vinegar’ when she started saying it back to me.  She’d rather catch flies with guilt.  It may take more effort, but she’s better at shaming than sweetness.  If cuteness is called for, she calls on Nicci.

“I’m not feeding you again.”

“You’re promoting anorexia, Mom.”

I start laughing.

“If you’re not going to make them, Charlie you make them.  You don’t do sh*t.”

Charlie starts laughing now.

“You can have the rest of my milkshake if you make them.”

That did it.  I’ve never seen him pick up a pan, except to put under drips.  Now he’s in the kitchen with a box of potatoes.  I was tempted to watch but that would mean getting up.  I don’t want to start a trend.

Now I’m free to control the remote any way I chose.  I chose to watch furniture being made from cast-iron and foam while flipping through every channel on the menu at least twice during the boring parts.  Nobody complained.

Fifteen minutes later, Charlie showed me a bowlful of potato soup.  “They’re a little runny,” he said.  He brought them up to the General and I returned the remote to its rightful owner, or so I let Charlie believe.  He has no idea how good I am at flipping that thing.  I don’t even have to look.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook.”

“I looked at the box,” he said.  “There’s three steps.  I looked at the first one.  I didn’t look at the other two.”

“Did you find the measuring cups?”

“We didn’t have regular milk so I used soy.  I guessed; I don’t know how to measure.  It said two tablespoons butter so I put in a stick.  I was supposed to wait until it boiled before I put in the potato pouch, but I didn’t.  That was my downfall.

“I let them stand for three minutes like it said, but they were still watery.  I thought, ‘I’ll bring them up to her; she won’t notice.’  First thing she said was, ‘ew, they’re liquid.’”

We didn’t hear any more about it until the next day.  Charlie got home first and noticed a hardened lump of potatoes in the garbage can.  Since our kitchen is half-remodeled, the first thing you see walking into our house is a canful of potatoes.

The General ran downstairs, shouting, “Mom!  Mom!”

She sees Charlie and says, “Oh, sh*t.  It’s you.”

She hangs her head and turns to go upstairs.  That’s when Charlie’s friend walks in.  He stopped by to pick up our old weight bench, which has been adorned with Christmas ornaments since we took down the tree.    She stops, looks at Charlie’s friend, smiles as cute as her friend Nicci and says, “Oh, hi!”

“What am I?”  Charlie says.

“Guess what?” she says.  “If Jordan gets an A on her test, she gets any car she wants.”

Charlie goes upstairs to verify this.  Anyone in the cul-de-sac would know there are sixteen year-old girls in the house.  They sound the same whether they’re studying or text-messaging each other’s boyfriends or just plain screaming.

“Is it true you get a car if you get an A?”

“Oh yeah,” Jordan says.  “I get any car I want if I get an A.”

“What good parents you have.”

“Oh no, it’s not like that.  They know there’s no way I’m getting an A.  That’s why they’re saying that.”

“You need to cheat,” Charlie says.

“Oh believe me, I am.  That’s why I’m sitting here with these guys.”

“What about you, Meagan?” Charlie asks.

“My parents are Nazis.  I have to work for a car.  Lately, though, they’re trying to buy my love.  You know what?  I have to say that it’s working.”

“I see you threw out the potatoes I worked so hard to make you last night,” Charlie says to the General.  “How’d they taste?”

“They tasted like butt.”

Jordan and Meagan look shocked.

“Honestly,” the General says, “it’s the worst food I’ve ever eaten in my life.”

“They were made with love.  I slaved over them for a long time.”

“Eight minutes,” she says.  “I can read the box.”

“Actually it was twelve.  I screwed up.”

She didn’t even have to use her shaming skills to convince us to order pizza tonight.  The mashed potatoes are still in full view.

A little help? [] 5:24:23 PM