“CHICKEN WINGS!” the twins screamed from the back of the SUV.

“Alright, Hun family, we’re going full assault tonight. No chicken left whole, hear me?” Dad barked from the front.

And there I was, literally in the middle, imagining with horror the steroid-ridden, force-fed, mistreated poultry. I saw row upon row of bird, and, in unison, they turn to face me. “Save us,” whispers one, his feathers molted and beak broken.

“Um… Dad?”

“Allison Hun! The floor is yours! What are you ordering?”

“Uh, I was thinking… maybe I would get… a salad?”

The car stopped – actually stopped.

Dad turned around; he fixed his eyes on mine, until I dropped my gaze. The hurt, the betrayal, the loss. I suddenly felt sea-sick. I could hear him trying to pronounce “salad” in his shock, but I could still see the repugnant coop in my mind.

My thoughts raced. Surely there must be a compromise. “Or, a burger?”

The car shot forward again. “The friend of my enemy is my enemy. A burger it is!”

Next time, I thought, I’ll be braver.

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