“I Hope I don’t have to eat fried mush this time,” I said as we got close to Great-Aunt Nelda’s house.
“Hey, fried mush is popular these days, Jodi. They call it polenta. It’s Italian,” teased Dad.
“I don’t care what they call it,” I said. “It looks like the mud pies I used to stir up in the backyard. I don’t like eating it.”
I wasn’t looking forward to a week of being served weird old-person food. At home Mom cooked meals I liked. We had pizza and chocolate chip cookies. The vegetable was carrot sticks.
Dad laughed. “You might be surprised, just as I was at Aunt Nelda’s house a long time ago. It wasn’t fried mush I ate, and I don’t believe Aunt Nelda prepared it.”
“What in the world are you talking about, Dad?” I asked. “I don’t get it.”
