Chicken Without Tom

Continuing my continuing "Eating without Tom" series, which are Tom related although Tom just happens to be elsewhere, is my Chicken Without Tom story.

One day Tom, Wade, and I played Dungeons & Dragons, practically all night. We were at my house and early in the morning Tom and Wade left to get some sleep, take a shower, and convince their parents they were still alive and well. We agreed to meet back at my house later, around Noon, to continue the D&D marathon. It wasn't a huge surprise that they were late, but it was a big surprise when someone from Kentucky Fried Chicken showed up at my door with a bucket of chicken. It turns out they were experimenting with home delivery and began delivering in Kewanee.

The doorbell rang a couple times and I opened the door as the poor delivery boy was turning around to leave. He looked up and said "Did you order chicken?"

I had no idea they even delivered. "No," I said.

He looked around for the house number, "Is this 531 South Main Street?"

"Yes."

"And you didn't order chicken?"

"No."

He had a dejected look on his face as he turned and walked down the stairs. As he reached the bottom I realized I was hungry. That wasn't much of a stretch. I was always hungry. "Hey, how much does that cost?"

He turned back to face me and with a dull Kewanee look in his eyes said "Wha?"

"I didn't order it, but I'm hungry. How much does it cost?" I don't remember what the price was, but I went ahead and bought the chicken. Then I ate it.

Tom showed up some time later. "Did the chicken come?" he asked.

"I didn't know you ordered that. The guy just showed up at my door."

"Oh, so you sent it away."

"No, I was hungry so I went ahead and bought it."

"Good. Where is it?"

"I ate it."

Tom gave me a dumb Kewanee look. "You ate it?"

"Yeah."

"All of it?"

"Yeah."

"I ordered enough for all three of us. You couldn't have eaten all of it."

Tom didn't believe me until I showed him the demolished chicken bones sitting in the trash, completely devoid of anything resembling meat. You should have seen his face, jaw hanging low.

To this day, Tom and I still have very different ideas of how much chicken is needed to make a meal. I'm sure Tom will chime in to correct my faulty memory, including letting you know exactly what size bucket of chicken he ordered. If my memory serves me correctly, the size was "not nearly large enough."