It all started because the car stank.
Seriously, it reeked to high heaven.It smelled like dirty gym socks. My mom finally got sick of it, and looked up ways to deodorize upholstery. Her solution was baking soda. She put some in a zip-lock bag, and put it in the car. Thankfully, her solution worked; the car stopped stinking.
Right about this time we were helping with a wedding. We were working in the kitchen, preparing food for the reception. Mom needed sugar for one of the dishes, but she couldn’t find any in the church’s kitchen, so she put some from home in a zip-lock bag to use. For some reason she didn’t end up using it, and took it back home. This was Saturday.
On Monday my little sister, Cassie, cleaned out the car, bringing in a zip-lock bag full of a white substance. Mom used it to make Dad some iced tea. When Dad got home, he brought some leftover chicken from his lunch, so Mom put it in the oven to warm. I poured Dad a nice, tall, glass of iced tea. Dad was pretty thirsty, because it had been a hot day, so he took a big swig. I think that’s the closest I’ve seen anyone come to spewing a drink with actually spewing it.
“What did you put in the tea?!” Dad choked out, grimacing.
Apparently thinking that Dad was overreacting, my little brother, David, decided it was his turn to try the tea. He gagged like none other. “Whatever it is, it’s not sugar,” he croaked.
“I used the sugar Cassie brought in from the car! I have no idea why it would taste awful!” Mom said, trying not to laugh.
At these words, Cassie clapped her hands over her mouth, stifling giggles. “You mean that zip-lock bag I carried in from today?”
“That wasn’t sugar,” Cassie said, between bursts of repressed laughter, “that was the baking soda. We used the sugar yesterday.”
Suddenly, I smelled something burning. “Mom,” I said, “is there something in the oven?”
“The chicken!” she gasped, and ran into the kitchen.
“Great!” Dad said, “Not only do I get deodorizing baking soda in my tea, my dinner is burnt!”
“Burnt chicken and baking soda tea,” Cassie said, speculatively.
“That sounds like a book title,” I said.
“We’ll have to make it one, someday,” Cassie answered.
“We certainly have enough stories to fill a book,” Dad said, drinking a pop David had gotten him, “and this story is definitely going in it, along with that Thanksgiving Andrew and Cori brought Jones Soda for dessert…”