The Parents of Baby Corn

by pjmcbride

Well, didn’t you always wonder?

But first, I must confront the UnLovely One, my chief suspect. She now denies responsibility, and claims I will be embarrassed when proven wrong. I cannot be embarrassed when it comes to The Conspiracy.

–First, even if you’re not directly involved, you certainly approved of/encouraged it, and thoughtcrime is still crime.

–Second, of course there was more than one person involved! It’s a CONSPIRACY, get it? These Children of the Corn, as they may be called, cannot evade justice forever, since I know where they work.

Lynbob, no, there was no video, but I imagine Sarah was wondering why I couldn’t stop laughing.

Anyway, on to our topic–the precursors, as it were, of baby corn. You remember, of course, the story of my wedding, back in the distant year of 1987. (“But what’s that got to do with baby corn?” you ask. Well, STOP BADGERING ME AND I’LL TELL YOU! I swear, it’s so hard to control a room when Nick’s not here.) I had forgotten to mention that our most interesting shower gift was provided by one of Rom’s aunts–two small cans of corn. I told my sister about this, and she couldn’t stop laughing. When she was introduced to the Giver of the Corn at the reception, I could tell she was bursting to say something about it. I probably kicked her under the table, as I’d done so many times in our childhood. She contented herself with saying, “So you’re Aunt Janet? I’ve heard so much about you!”

Well, Rom and I ate one of those cans of corn, and I gifted my sister with the other one for her birthday. She was delighted to have it, and paid it forward by giving it to a friend of hers for the next gift-giving occasion. The corn went through several more changes of residence, but was eventually lost track of. Maybe one of the recipients actually ate it at some point.

Now, these were not baby corn, per se, but they were baby-sized cans of corn. And whenever cans of corn appear mysteriously where no cans of corn should be, their memory lives on.

Unrelated to corn of any sort, but I just remembered it and thought it was funny: A friend of mine once got a phone call from a man who said what sounded like, “How’d you like a rat in your dryer?” “How’d I like a rat in my dryer? I’m sorry, I don’t understand you,” she said. Turns out the guy was trying to make an obscene call, but was mumbling. I don’t even remember what he meant to say, and I can’t think of anything obscene that would sound like that, but I plan on saying it when I get an obscene call on 911. “How would I like a rat in my dryer? I’m really not sure, sir.”

There is now a trailer with a big sign at Barker/Austin–‘FIREWORKS. The really good stuff!” My house will catch on fire this year for sure.

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