Did you know that giraffes sleep 20 minutes to 2 hours PER DAY? WHAT THE CRAZINESS? I could never be a giraffe. I can't/won't force insomnia upon myself for any reason, especially to be a tall lanky giraffe with a 21 inch black tongue. PFFFT. Forget that. Plus, I don't meet the height requirements to join their species.
Lions though, they rest for up to 21 hours a day. I can dig that. I mean hey, you are the King of Pride Rock. You deserve to lay around and have gazelles fan you with palm leaves and have zebras just kill themselves in sacrifice for your consumption. I bet whoever named them knew that fun fact, and hence deemed them lions. Because they are just always lion around. *rim shot* Ba dum ching!
A pretty typical lunch conversation with the tiny humans:
PG: What's this Bri?
B: Grilled chicken.
PG: Oh Bri! You the best! I love chicken!
B: Do you want to try something new?
B: How bouuuut...BBQ sauce, do you like that?
PG: Yep, I like that, put some here. *points to specific spot on plate* YAY! I will dip my apple in it!
B: Uh, probably better to dip your chicken in it.
PJ: I want some of that sauce!
B: Okay, here's some for you too. Taste it!
PG: Oh, that's good Bri! But it's hot.
B: No silly, its cold! But it's not spicy, I checked.
PJ: *makes disgusted face* Uh Bri, thas gross.
B: *giggles* Okay, here's some ketchup too.
PG: I need TWO THINGS TOO!
I respectively put two piles of "sauce" on their plates for the chicken, and went on to fix my lunch. I made a Dijon crusted chicken. With the rice wine vinegar and Dijon mustard leftover from the pan, I made a little sauce for dipping my chicken in. Jealous? Maybe you should be, because I have just recently tapped into my inner Julia Child. Childs? Ok, just kidding. I don't really know her well enough to know how to say her name. Let's try Rachael Ray. No, too annoying. I don't love butter, and am not a granny so I can't love Paula Deen. Oh, I KNOW! What's her name. *snaps* Giada De Laurentiis. I like her, I pick her. I just recently tapped into my inner Giada and am whipping up recipes like I went to ghetto culinary school.
(Note: I can make a dip out of ANYTHING. Wanna have salsa, but none here? No big, let me just open up this can of diced tomatoes and oh, hey let me throw some of this sliced cheese on it and nuke it. Bam! Fake rotel! This is also why we can't have cheese in the house, because it goes straight to my microwave and I eat it all before it gets used for what it was bought for.)
PJ: What did you just make Bri? You give me some, sure?
B: Oh, this is good! I don't know if I should share.
PJ: *cocks head to the side and gives a sly look* Oh, yes you should! Lemme taste it! *sticks finger in and takes a small taste* Oh, das good Bri!
PG: Lemme taste it too, please! *sticks finger in and tastes* I like that!
B: Would you all like a piece of chicken with it on it?
P&P: Oh, yes here! *points*
As they chewed the chicken, the rice wine vinegar settled in on their tiny human taste buds and I got the greatest sour faces I ever saw. Although they ate that piece without spitting it out, they declined another taste. However, mixing the BBQ sauce WITH the ketchup seems perfectly reasonable. And absolutely disgusting.
The rest of our lunch conversation was about the dentist. PG is going for the first time today and wanted to know what they do. So I, as any good person should, told her that if she let the dentist see her teeth and she was very very good she'd probably get a sucker. I also told her the dentist will tell her she can have that sucker but she doesn't need TOO much candy. Her mission should she choose to accept (or remember it) is to tell that dentist, "I'll be good and let you look in my mouth for a sucker, but I can't have too much sugar!" So naturally she's stoked to go see the dentist because hey, free candy!