Last month Joey had speakers installed in all of the important rooms of our house. So he can plug his ipod in upstairs and we can listen to it in the kitchen.
Last week he turned on some Sinatra and this is what I was listening to while I chopped and diced and sauteed in preparation for a dinner that I knew no one would eat.
She walks like an angel walks, she talks like an angel talks,
And her hair has a kind of curl, to my mind, she's my kind of girl.
She's wise like an angel's wise, with eyes like an angel's eyes,
And a smile like a kind of pearl, to my mind, she's my kind of girl.
A pretty little face, that face just knocks me off my feet,
A pretty little feet, she's really sweet enough to eat.
She looks like an angel looks, she cooks like an angel cooks,
And my mind in a kind of whirl, to my mind, she's my kind of girl.
Joey walked through the kitchen to get a drink and I asked if he thought I cooked like an angel.
Without missing a beat Joey replied, "Yeah. Like an angel of death."
Those Carlsons are so witty and quick on their feet. It is impossible to compete. And in this instance it was more hilarious than offensive. This came on the heels of two consecutive nights of someone barfing after dinner.
Do you listen to music while you cook?