Good Friday marked the season-kick-starting Opening Day for the Texas Rangers, and the anniversary to the beginning of a great friendship. A year ago prior was the first time this foursome got together, and ordered boneless pickles. It wasn't in the cards for Patrick and me to go this year, but Jessica and Bobby came over after the game to share some post Ranger love.
That evening, we headed to downtown for our Mavericks game....but first, I convinced Hunny into a mini photo-shoot at the West End tunnel of lights (and that weirdly random sperm-in-egg looking thing in the background).
Now that I've discovered there's a haunted house in there, I'm itching to go!! Who's with me?!?!
The first half of the game was amazingly fun, and not just because I was drinking white zinfandel all fancy style from a dixie cup. We {the guys in uniform} were making great plays, executing with impressive effort, and were leading our opponents by 10.
Then, for some reason, the subject of wings arose.
To know why this is significant, you'd have to remember, since it was the anniversary of Opening Day, the day of boneless pickles, Hooters was a primary topic of conversation. You'd also have to know Patrick's outstanding history of food obession. And it wouldn't hurt to be familiar with his forgetful qualities.
While we were still at home, after in-depth talk of wings, I placed a pan full of Costco wings in the oven upon request. In all the excitement, a miscommunication occured.
No one ate the wings, and for all we knew, the oven was still cooking them at the house, with the puppies in a room next to the kitchen, and we were 30 minutes away enjoying a basketball game while all of our possessions were burning to a crisp in a hot wing vs. oven induced fire.
We skipped out at half time, anxious to get home....or what was left of it. The game had been so exciting, it was painful to leave.
Some guys on the street asked if they could have our tickets and I selfishly handed mine over....what was I going to do with it beside throw it in the trash? When Patrick extended his over, he asked the guy what he was going to give him for it.
"What you got to give me for it? You got a dollar or something?" He said all proffessionally, like he scalps tickets on the side for a living, at extreme bargain prices.
The guy looked confused, but pulled a dollar out of his pocket in offering. We accepted and briskly walked away, laughing at how silly our situation had become.
As we rounded the corner, a real scalper named Wally asked if we wanted to sell our tickets. He said he'd give us $40 for them since it was already half-time. DOPE!
While we were still at home, after in-depth talk of wings, I placed a pan full of Costco wings in the oven upon request. In all the excitement, a miscommunication occured.
No one ate the wings, and for all we knew, the oven was still cooking them at the house, with the puppies in a room next to the kitchen, and we were 30 minutes away enjoying a basketball game while all of our possessions were burning to a crisp in a hot wing vs. oven induced fire.
We skipped out at half time, anxious to get home....or what was left of it. The game had been so exciting, it was painful to leave.
Some guys on the street asked if they could have our tickets and I selfishly handed mine over....what was I going to do with it beside throw it in the trash? When Patrick extended his over, he asked the guy what he was going to give him for it.
"What you got to give me for it? You got a dollar or something?" He said all proffessionally, like he scalps tickets on the side for a living, at extreme bargain prices.
The guy looked confused, but pulled a dollar out of his pocket in offering. We accepted and briskly walked away, laughing at how silly our situation had become.
As we rounded the corner, a real scalper named Wally asked if we wanted to sell our tickets. He said he'd give us $40 for them since it was already half-time. DOPE!
On our way home, we kept our eyes peeled for fire engines. When we didn't see any, and didn't smell smoke when we opened the garage door, we knew it the coast was clear. But the question still lingered......what happened to the hot wings?
They were still warm in the oven. I'm sure one of us must have turned it off by instinct when we were doing our rounds as we left the house. Neither of us can recall doing it. Since we have the shadiest oven in the world (it's touch screen, so the most minor touch can turn it off or on, and no matter what setting it's on, it only heats from the top, and there' some weird contranption that sticks out in the middle of it, so the door wont close all the way if you put a pizza pan in the oven, unless it's practically sitting on the oven floor), I wouldn't be surprised if it was a heaven-sent-from-above-crappy-oven-accident.
We decided to make best of our predicament by getting frozen yogurt and finishing off the questionably warm hot wings.
Things have a way of working out for the better........
The Mavericks ended up losing by a terrible turnover in overtime. It was easier on our hearts not to be there, easier on our stomachs coated in FroYo, AND not to forget, we were a dollar richer.
Have you ever scalped your tickets to an event? Have you ever left the oven on at home by accident?
Have you ever scalped your tickets to an event? Have you ever left the oven on at home by accident?
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