Get in, get your question answered, and get out. Stand up to her, for cryin’ out loud!”
“Rick…,” my mom was saying, “Rick, calm down. He did find out what you asked him to—”
“No, he didn’t!” “What do you mean?” “He tells me they’re all chickens! Of course they’re all chickens!
The question is how many are hens, and how many are roosters.”
I could almost hear the click in my brain, and man, I felt like a complete doofus.
No wonder he was disgusted with me. I was an idiot! They were all chickens… du-uh!
Garrett acted like he was some expert on chickens, and he didn’t know diddly-squat!
Why had I listened to him? But it was too late. My dad was convinced I was a coward, and to get me over it,
he decided that what I should do was take the carton of eggs back to the Bakers and tell them we didn’t eat eggs,
or that we were allergic to them, or something.
Then my mom butts in with, “What are you teaching him here, Rick? None of that is true.
If he returns them, shouldn’t he tell them the truth?
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