Off the Deep End

There are a few things that any good Southerner knows: deep fryers are a blessing from God Himself, anything can be deep fried, and there has to be a limit on the amount of fried food you intake at a time.

I did not marry a Southerner.

My lovely grandmother gave Sean and me a deep fryer for Christmas, and we finally unpacked and used it last night. We planned to have beer battered chicken and shrimp and some mashed potatoes, but somebody we got a little overeager and cooked chicken, shrimp, onion rings, and hush puppies.

Later, we dragged ourselves to bed, burping and pooting the whole way, feeling like our stomachs were going to explode and deep fried aliens were going to burst out. We ended up being up most of the night, and lets just say we were praying to the porcelain gods and reigning our kingdom on our porcelain throne. It was rough. This morning for breakfast we passed a bottle of Pepto Bismol between us and aired the smell of grease out of our house.

Never again.