You Can’t Drink All Day if You Don’t Start in the Morning by Celia Rivenbark Read Free Book Online Page A

toward the door with a broom handle at this point.
    “Some beard you are!” I pouted. “Oy vey!”
    The truth was that since the stock market crashed, taking with it our savings, Soph’s college fund and, most important of all, my supersecret Dollywood vacation fund, I had been rethinking eating with my kid every so often at school.
    Frankly, the school lunches were $3 for adults and you didn’t even get bingo or a beverage. Screw that.
    Plus, at the senior center, they let you talk. At Soph’s school, often as not, we were subjected to something horrible called “silent lunch,” which is just the most unnatural thing in the whole world. You can’t ask kids not to talk during lunch. The last time I went, we were all subjected to the dreaded “silent lunch” because one little boy in the class had pooted that morning and then bragged about it.
    “You mean we’re sitting here not able to even say ‘Pass the pseudo honey-mustard sauce that contains neither honey nor mustard’ just because that kid over there farted?”
    “Yeah,” said Soph. “And stop talking. You’re just going to make it worse.” I felt like we were in Oz—the HBO maximum-security prison, not the Technicolor place with the weird paving job.
    The next day, I was back at the Senior Center, playing the bingo and winning yet another flashlight. Prizes weren’t as good as when we’d first started going and it was either the flashlight or a can of Del Monte fruit cocktail—no sugar added, so really, what the hell was the point?
    Although winning was fun, it wasn’t the highlight of the day. No, no. That came when I returned our bingo cards back to a plastic box and the sweet old man collecting the cards looked up at me from his wheelchair and grinned.
    “You know somethin’?” he said with a twinkle in his eyes. “You look just like Meg Ryan!”
    “Thanks!” I said, practically curtseying and wondering if it would sound braggy if I told him that lately I’d been getting more Marg Helgenberger.
    “Don’t get too excited,” muttered his lady friend. “He’s legally blind, you know.”
    Oh, snap! I wasn’t sure if she was doing the circle-and-spray over her man or if she was just being real with me, but I admired her either way.
    Besides, I should’ve figured he was vision impaired whenI noticed he always played on a special card the size of a yoga mat.
    Still, it was a sweet thing for him to say and I treasured it. Almost as much as my two flashlights.
A VERY NICE CHICKEN SALAD, I PROMISE!
3–4 cups cooked chicken, cubed
1 cup chopped celery
1 tablespoon minced onion
1 can sliced water chestnuts
1 small jar pimientos
1 cup chopped fresh mushrooms
1 cup mayonnaise (Duke’s, if possible)
1 tablespoon lemon juice
1 teaspoon lemon pepper
     
Topping:
½ cup slivered almonds
1½ cups Pepperidge Farm CornBread Stuffing mix
     
    Mix everything together in a big bowl and pour into a greased casserole dish. Add almonds to stuffing mix and toss around a bit. Pour on top of chicken salad and bake for about 30 minutes at 350 degrees, covered.
    Note: This fabulous chicken salad comes from my friend Mabel Halterman, who knows her way aroundthe Senior Center and used to live across the street from me. Mabel was one of ten children and she learned how to cook when she was just a sprout growing up in rural Sampson County, North Carolina. She said to remind y’all that this chicken salad is good hot or cold. Serve it with some fresh snap beans and sliced tomatoes in the summer.

8
Airlines Serving Up One Hot Mess
    Flight attendant: “Good morning, everyone, and welcome aboard OneHotMess Airlines! We hope you’ll enjoy your flight today. In the meantime, those of you who opted for the additional thirty-dollar surcharge for seats with thirty-eight inches of pitch, please relax and enjoy your flight. For the rest of you, well, may God have mercy on your souls.”
    Pilot: “Yes, good morning from the flight deck. This is your captain speaking and