One Sunday lunchtime …

… as I was preparing the Sunday dinner (roast chicken and all the trimmings) my son asked if he could have “crochet potatoes”.

“Crochet potatoes?  I can’t crochet potatoes.”  I replied.  “I’m still learning to crochet.”

“Crochet potatoes.” he insisted.

“What do you mean, crochet potatoes.”  I asked.

“Crochet potatoes.”  he repeated.  “You know, the things we have with chicken.”

“Oh, you mean croquette potatoes, the ones in the freezer.”

“Yes” he replied.

 

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