Wings Give You Wings

I went out to lunch today with Dear Old Dad. I ordered wings, parm and garlic. It may be the fourth time I’ve eaten wings recently.

I never ate wings before I moved to the backyard of the dish’s birthplace. I thought they were kind of gross. But since I moved to the ROC, I’ve become a big fan, thanks mostly to the now defunct J.B. Quimby’s, which made the yummiest “jerk” wings I’ve ever had (it wasn’t really jerk rub, but it was salty and full of rosemary, and it was delicious). That helped turn me into a rabid wing eater.

And, the thing is, that is one of the things I missed most about being locked up thanks to Preznit Carnage’s horrible awful no-good COVID disease. I missed ponying up to a bar and enjoying a pile of piping hot, crunchy, greasy, well-seasoned chicken wings. So that was mighty enjoyable.

So I’m on a wing rampage. Gosh they’re delicious.

So then we bought some groceries for the old people. Then I came home and worked on a project: The kitchen speakers are now upgraded.

Next, a bit of cable management for the unavoidable cable runover across the floor, and I get the friggin’ pilot chair fixed.

Then I’ll really have something.

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