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Dewayne's Story > Chapters > My Entire Life

Makin Goatmeal 

Date Range: 12/18/2008 To 12/19/2010   Comments: 2 Views: 11240
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In this era of electronic conversation, there are opportunities for families to chit-chat in original and entertaining ways.  Recently, I was treated to a memorable and hilarious internet conference with some of my kinfolk.  I submit a summary of our gab fest for your enjoyment.


Often, mom and I share a cup of coffee and a “good morning” conversation via instant messaging on our computers.  With the broadband experience, we can talk almost as easily as if we were lazing together at the breakfast table.  This day, Cousin Linda joins in to chew the cyber fat.  We jaw about the winter storm approaching Linda’s home in northern Virginia.  She observes how the local citizens reacted to the foreboding forecast.  They turn out in droves to the grocery stores, and have to lug their emergency foodstuffs to their jalopies because the shopping carts have disappeared in the frenzy. 


Linda then says—writes—the comment that begets a unique exchange: “Be right back, makingoatmeal.” Computer chatting can spawn amusing spoonerisms.  I detect a chance for a smart aleck remark. “What do you need with goat meal,” I inquire.


After pausing for effect I add, “Oh, you mean oat meal.  Could be goat meal for all we know.”  Now we have the concept of goat meal circling over our repartee.


Cousin Linda’s husband—Roger—retired last month and they celebrated with a week-long cruise to the Caribbean.  Cousin announces that hubby asked her to marry him all over again, and presented a glitzy ring to mark the occasion.  “Must be the goat meal,” I explain as a reason for his resurgent adoration. “You are lavishing love on him during those blithe days of retired matrimonial bliss, aren’t you cousin?” 


Linda feigns embarrassment, bats her eyelashes, and daintily attributes spouse’s zeal to her gourmet cooking.  I serenade a question, “Hey good lookin’, whatcha got cookin?”  Sharp as a tack, she rapidly strokes the answer—goat meal. 


“Oh goodness—the horn of the goat crushed into meal…Feed, water, and wait,” I retort, “That’s a recipe you should render to other ladies with retired husbands.”  Coveting this magic mixture, I ask her to mail me a sack of the love meal.  I could use a measure of fervor in my own love life.


Cousin Lisa from West Virginia enrolls in our Saturday morning session.  With three females now cybertronically gossiping, the mood becomes loquacious and they chatter away for several minutes—I can’t squeeze in one of my astute observations.  They decide to distinguish the confusing scripts on the message screen by employing distinctive fonts.  They gush over each other’s pastel selections—the colors are so pretty.


Lisa’s husband mercifully adds another masculine presence to this fluttery flurry of female verbosity.  I electronically shout, “THANK GOD ANOTHER MAN!” 


Mom has lost track of the color coding and asks in the midst of the messaging, “WHO is that in green?”  Linda points out my lack of font fashion style.  “Keep your fingernails off my font,” I fire back, “I don’t go for fuufuu font, and besides, fluffy font is frivolous.”  Linda wants to know what is creaming my morning coffee.  Mom moans, “I’m getting lost in the scramble. There’s too much chirping going on.”


I suddenly conjure up an image and inform the group, “For some reason I am seeing hens prancing in a henhouse; there’s feathers flying and much cheery clucking.”  The ladies cackle concerning my henhouse analogy.  “Feathers are obscuring my keyboard,” I complain amid the hobnobbing. I suddenly realize not a peep has been heard from Danny.  I scan the coop to ferret out his location.


Lisa does not understand our references to oatmeal.  Linda answers, “It all started with me making a typographical error—I said I had to go cook some goats instead of oats.  It has escalated to insanity.”  I clarify with, “She typed ‘makingoatmeal’ and then proceeded to crow about Roger’s newfound retirement libido.”


Linda seizes the henhouse chain of thought and says, “Lisa, we will talk when my feathers aren’t ruffled; I need to iron them out.”


Danny resorts to shouting a salutation at the two elder hens, “HI JANET.  HI LINDA. HOW ARE YOU GUYS?”  My mother—Janet to Danny—clucks, “Great, we are having a family reunion.”  Danny confirms, “SOUNDS LIKE IT.”


I mutter under my breath to Danny, “There’s a new rooster in Linda’s henhouse.  I think Linda is enjoying retirement a little more than she expected.”  I raise one eyebrow and say, “She’s feeding her retired rooster crushed horn of goat every morning.  Digesting the goat meal, he then struts into the den of marital love” Danny gazes at Linda and yells over the din, “I THINK YOU’RE RIGHT.”  Beholding the twittering hennery, Danny concludes, “I NEED A DRINK.”


Laughter and sallies of wit among the loving family persists for a while longer.  Wonders of technology permit us to visit in each other’s homes even though we are hundreds of miles away.  The quirky pacing of instant messaging sometimes causes a comical sequence to unexpectedly transpire.  


As her final jab, Linda accuses me of having chickens dancing in my head followed by horned goats.  That vision will have to wait for a healthy ration of goat meal. 


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Member Since
Jan 2009
Sam Henderson said:
posted on Jan 01, 2010

I am just getting my grandmother online. It's a wonderful way for her to chat with her grandson and actually see him not just hear him. Great story Dewayne.

Member Since
Apr 2008
Sarah Green said:
posted on Jan 08, 2010

Can I hire you to help my grandparents? They refuse!! I am trying to hard but they just say no no no.