How to Chicken Fry a Pool Boy in Three Easy Steps

A note to all men: If you leave us women alone long enough, we will find some way to entertain ourselves. This epiphany came during a recent tropical vacation. My husband, being sick, spent almost our entire trip in the room, in bed, watching The Mask over and over on the only English-speaking channel on cable.

Me, being the concerned wife I am, I spent most of my time by the pool. It was during one of my quiet afternoons at the pool that I discovered most women can find a way to entertain themselves. I had flipped, I had flopped, and read all of the magazines in my possession. At this point, I decided it was time to do something, so I struck up a conversation with one of the young men on the entertainment staff.

My simple comment, "I think it is going to rain," turned into an all out war with my young friend. The debate was on. "No, no," he said, "It's not going to rain." But at that point, I could see the black clouds looming on the horizon. Yes, it was definitely going to rain, but he reassured me... often, it was not going to rain. At one point, he went to the extent of explaining how long he had lived in Mexico and how he knew exactly what it would look like if it was going to rain and it was not going to rain. A bet was placed, a wager if you will, with the terms to be negotiated at the time it rained. He was going to owe me big!

It rained. As it rained, I refreshed his memory of the wager and began negotiations. It was a heated debate that started with wither it actually rained or if it just "sparkled", and ended with how indebted he was to me. (I told you, we will entertain ourselves, even at the suffering of someone else.)

The question remained, what did I want? Being a married woman, I steered clear of any indecent proposals, and went more for the embarrassing and torturous. The standard gags just were not going to get it. It was with great consideration that I finally turned to his partner in crime, the expert water volleyball player and co-pool staff and posed the question. What do I want for my poor friend's inability to forecast the weather? Chicken Fry him he suggested.

Just as you just did, my fine reader, I paused to contemplate what this might mean and without proper explanation, I agreed. My only thought was it must be bad if his co-worker wants to subject him to the humiliation.

Chicken Fried... to be doused in the pool and proceed in quick manner to the beach to cover one's self in sand to return to the pool for a demonstration of the chicken dance. Yes, this is what I wanted. It sounded like a plan. Now, my dear reader, I wish you could hear the conversation and how it went word for word. I am in a profession where I have to project my voice so by the time all is said and done, I had the undivided attention of most of the pool. I could see it in his eyes, he could hear the conversations ending and he could feel all eyes looking in our direction. Yes, he was destined to be chicken fried.

It was like a death march to the edge with one last plea for it to end. With a nudge from his dear buddy, into the pool he went and off to the beach he trotted. He returned fully covered in sand to perform the best rendition of the chicken dance ever to a standing ovation.

It just goes to show you: Never leave a woman alone for too long, someone might get hurt, we don't mind a little collateral damage.