My husband, Warren, has been banned from grocery shopping since 1987.  I sent him for a loaf of bread. 

He returned home with $67 worth of pretzels, Pepsi, peanut brittle, beef jerky and forgot the bread. His excuse?  Grocery store amnesia, brought on by subliminal messages playing in the Muzak.

Last Thanksgiving, I had to send him to the store for a few emergency items.  I made a list.  He knew he was on shopping probation and tried really hard to get everything exactly as written.

He did great until he got to the yams.  He was supposed to buy two 12 oz. cans.  But the store was out of the canned variety.  He decided to buy fresh yams instead.  Only... they didn't have any normal yams.  All they had were genetically altered, super Mega Yams from Mexico.

With men, bigger is always better.  They apply this theory to car engines, stereos, TVs and, to my utter dismay, yams.  Warren arrived home with two grocery bags bulging with the six biggest yams I've ever seen!

There wasn't enough room in my kitchen for the yams and me.  So I sent two next door to our neighbor Bud.   You see, all summer long Bud brought over his garden bounty, everything from carrots to beets and some unidentifiable cucumber-like thing with spikes.

It seemed only right that I share the yams.  I wrapped them in ribbon and sent them over with a note to please take care of them.  They didn't come back.  Thank goodness for great neighbors!  Although, they must be a bit odd over there because the last yam report I had, Bud was considering adoption.  "They're much better behaved than my kids," he said.  Quite frankly, I agree!

Anyway, I'd never actually cooked an uncanned yam before.  Perhaps you don't know this, but a fresh yam has the same density as a tree stump.  I boiled it, baked it, banged it, hacked it and finally used Warren's scroll saw to cut it into chunks.  Then, I applied micro waves for about six hours and finally got it into a somewhat edible lumpy condition. 

You know, for years I've always thought my family would eat anything with a little butter and brown sugar on it. 

I was wrong.

I finally gave it to the dog, who decided it needed to age a bit and buried his yam under the hydrangea bushes.

Warren, on the other hand, may be eating yams every night for the rest of his natural life!  It's August and I've still got two left.  If you happen to have a really unappetizing way of preparing yams, please send it my way.

Kate     ¸.·´¨¨)) -:¦:-
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        -:¦:- ((¸¸.·´ Kathryn Rose Taylor
Syndicated Humor Columnist and author of...
Snickerdoodles - Guaranteed to make your doodle snicker!
http://www.kathrynrosetaylor.com