My mother made hotdogs for lunch every Sunday.
Bulk wieners* boiling in the pot, homemade relish, steamed buns, and mustard and ketchup.
I guess it was the reward for going to church … or later on … not going to church, but not joining a cult or another church or wearing a Satan t-shirt.
Changing back into normal clothes after church was to the question, “How many?” “3” was my usual reply.
Responding with “4” was met with “You can’t eat four!”
How could I sensibly argue with that?
No matter what I eat on Sunday for lunch now … I consider it a hotdog.
Always have and always will.
*bulk wieners: 2 weiners wrapped in plastic … looking like linked sausages.
note: one of my brothers refers to hotdogs as “sliders” … cause they slide in and out of you. But he’s a bit rude and humorous. … He’s ruderous I suppose.
double note: I wish I had a pair of wiener tongs … maybe I could deliver a kid or something.
Today went off without a hitch, but I didn’t have a trailer … so it was fine.