Three Ts

April 11, 2007 at 1:30 am (Sweet sticky things)

There’s a girl I know. She’s pretty, easygoing, fun-loving. Tolerant. (She’s been putting up with me for the past couple of years, as a case in point.) She rolls with the punches, but there are a couple of things that send her right up the wall.

Li’l Jon, for example. More specifically, Dave Chappelle’s impersonation of Li’l Jon. Her teenage son is a fan, and when he and I hold a conversation in Li’l Jon-ese, we get the head snap/scowl, equivalent to dropping an F-bomb in front of Grandma. I once joked that if we got married, the vows would consist of three ‘What?’s”, a “YESSS!” and an “OHH-KAY!”

Ahh, the single life.

Another trigger? The word titty. Purchasing chicken parts one day, I used the T word. Somehow the conversation morphed into a discussion of strip joints, and I ranted about how they should be called strip joints and not titty bars.(The term titty bar conjures up an image of babies, sidling up to a topless woman and saying, “Hey, give me a drink, and make it a double D!”) My friend, hearing this, said, “Thank god. I hate that word.”

A moment of pure evil swept over me. “You should never have told me that…”

Suddenly, this word took on a life of its own. This chicken dish that I make, using pasta, peanut butter, chicken titt, um, soft fleshy mounds of chicken grown between the wings, veggies and some secret spices, needed a name. At first I called it chicken noodle goop, but the first time I said that out loud, she thought I used a racial slur and put the kibosh on that phrase.

Eventually I settled on 3T chicken. (Three Ts in the magic word.) I’ve virtually stopped using the word, but stashed it away, to pull out only in my most obnoxious moments.  Since we’re not hanging out so much anymore, I feel this sudden compulsion to go crazy…

Titty. Ahem, titty. TITTY! Titty titty titty titty!  Yesss!

Phew. Glad I got that off my chest…

Note: If you hear a really loud groan coming from the direction of the Rose Quarter about six AM, that will be her. Of all the things I do to get her goat, puns are the most effective…


  1. Betsy said,

    Um, 6:11 – to be precise. Am I *that* predictable?

  2. beastard said,

    At this moment, I’m just glad I have custody of the butcher knife!

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