What did y'all get y'alls moms for Mother's Day. (Sorry if y'all don't know who y'all's moms are, and/or y'all's moms are dead. I have that same problem with Father's Day...)

Mine has every kitchen device known to man, so I thought I'd finally found one here which she didn't have, this very obscure, but absolutely essential, kitchen basic.

However, you can only buy it, like, at the aquarium? So I ordered some cookbooks online, instead, and told her if she wanted one, I would totally get it.

ME: Do you want an Octodog?
MOM: Octawha...? What is it? No.
ME: It's a device that cuts your hot dogs into octopi-shaped things.
MOM: Uh...no.
ME: Why not?
MOM: (...)
ME: Maybe little Octodog...?
MOM: NO NO I DO NOT WANT THAT THING
ME: Oh. I guess, if you wanted your hot dogs to be octupusses, you would, you know. Just eat an octopus.
MOM: Exactly. Right.
ME: Although, there may be, you know. Some octopus in your hot dog.
MOM: DO NOT ORDER ME THAT THING.
ME: Oh. Kay.
MOM: I MEAN IT. I DO NOT WANT ONE. DO NOT SEND ME THAT THING.
ME: Fine. Okay. I won't.
MOM: You're sending me that thing, aren't you.
ME: NO. Maybe. For self-defense.

You do not even need to have kids in the house - I am sure this octothinger has many other uses. Such as, making radish roses. Banana slugs. Indian deities. Chinese eggplant Cthulhus. And life-sized, anatomically correct models of Bret Michael's genitalia. Which every kitchen should have. And also, some PAM. And a lot of Lysol.

Dude. I am so not hungry anymore.

Labels: fear the octodog