January 31, 2009

The Genetic Love of Ranch Dressing

I have a small confession. No, I didn't hack up some telemarketer into a thousand pieces, though I have frequently been tempted just to make an example. Okay, get ready for it 'cause I'm just gonna blurt it out.
I love ranch dressing!
Now, I realize I am far from alone in this. In spite of the culinary snobs who deem this "redneck food," I am not scared to step out on a cultural limb and declare from village to dell that I freakin' love this shit. I would eat it on just about anything. In fact, I can't figure out for the fat ass life of me just why those geniuses at Baskin Robbins haven't nixed one of the 25 flavors of chocolate and rolled out a ranch flavor in its place. Apart from that ever-addicting sushi and Bud Light, ranch dressing is my favorite food on the globe.
But, as I explained in my quest to Shine in 2009 (which you need to re-read so you can help keep me to all my resolutions), I would like to reduce my rather sizable ass into one that can be divided between just two women as opposed to the five it would take to tote this bitch around right now. I've been eating steamed vegetables and rice and have even been letting my kids come with me to Wal Mart without their normal kiddie leash on, you know, so I can get my daily exercise sprinting after the two of them as they dart in two opposite directions in search of toys and candy. What can I say, I'm a regular Gene, I mean, Richard Simmons. But there are just some foods you can't part with and, for me, ranch dressing is at the top of that list.
Anyways, as of last night, I came to believe that the deep love of ranch dressing might be genetic, you know, like some folks swear the love of beer is. After I cooked supper and then made plates for all the penis-bearing members of our household, I went to the back end of the house to hang up some wrinkly clothes. At first, I heard nothing but silence, the familiar sound of two boys and their equally ornery father stuffing their bellies with pork chops and the fixins. After a few minutes, the noise came back and I knew the funny business would restart promptly.
Just as I pulled the last shirt from the basket, my youngest boy Rolan tip-toed into our room, a smile on his face with evidence of mischief in his eyes. My room was dark, so it took me a second to notice it.
And just what was "it," you ask. Well, pull up a chair and I will tell you, friends.
"It" was the creamy, white semi-circle that started at Rolan's chin, curving from one cheek to the next while peaking at his button nose. At first, I didn't see it and then I couldn't figure out just what it was. And then I remembered -- I made a jug of homemade ranch dressing. His face looked as though he had a beard of pure dairy delight.
Immediately, I knew a mess of near Biblical proportions awaited me somewhere within our house. I asked Rolan where the dressing was and he responded by acting as though he hadn't heard a damn word I said because he was so simply too consumed with running his chubby fingers through the sauce of his chin and then licking off his spoils. I left my laundry in the bedroom to find a sports-consumed husband kicked back in his lazy boy blissfully unaware that Rolan had gotten into the ranch dressing. Walking by scanning the room for some white explosion, I asked Rowdy if he'd heard or seen the boy getting into anything. Naturally, his response was no, which was no fucking surprise to me since
I searched high and low. I looked in the boys' rooms, behind the television, hell, even on the front porch. I couldn't find the dressing jug, but aside from Rolan's face smothered in dressing, I could not spot the crime scene, either.
And then, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a few splatters of a creamy, white something behind the refrigerator. Slowly, I inched closer and, as I did, I noticed more and more dressing. Apparently Rolan had swiped the shit, which is awesome, and then snuck behind the frig to basically, well, drink that shit. And in the process, he had also managed to pour it in the vents on the backside of the frig, into the carpet and down cracks in our wall I previously did not know existed. It was an unholy fucking mess.
Naturally Rowdy chuckled, which made perfect sense to me since he wasn't the one shimmying his fat ass behind a large appliance to then scrub a dairy explosion off an entire corner of our house. I'm sure it would have been a real freakin' knee slapper to me, too.
After I hosed down the refrigerator, I had to repeat the process on Rolan. He had to be bathed and his formerly clean pajamas had to be replaced. As I scrubbed the smiling two year old from top to bottom, I noticed just how much he really seemed to enjoy his big gulps of ranch dressing. Laughing at our shared passion, I then realized that he might have inherited more than just my deep love of salad dressing. I mean, holy bejesus, what if he feels the way his mother does about day drinking and cuss words and jokes that would make most sailors blush? Holy shit, I may have created a monster.

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17 comments:

Amber said...

Possibly I shouldn't be laughing, considering the mess, but this is hilarious! At least for me, since I didn't have to clean it either. ;-)

Michele said...

Looks like the apple didn't fall to far from the tree with this one. LOL!!!

Michelle said...

Dude i have to tell you, the visual of you hosing down the fridge AND then hosing down Rolan is beyond hysterical!!!! You freaking make me laugh as though i never laughed before!!!

I certainly didn't know ranch dressing could be that funny!!!

Girl you need to go with oil and balsamic!!! MUCH easier to clean up!!!

LOVE YA!!!!

Mollie said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
Mollie said...
This comment has been removed by the author.
for a different kind of girl said...

My youngest son has just recently discovered the life giving miracle that is ranch dressing, and I couldn't be more proud. Also, if I didn't know better, I'd swear my oldest kid didn't come from my ranchy loins, because that kid won't touch the stuff. Seriously, if you cut me in half, I'm pretty sure that stuff would flow out from my severed veins.

With all that, I'm glad I've not had to clean up what you did, though!

Casey said...

Oh my, that poor jug of ranch. I've never heard of anyone making their own ranch so you really must have a problem. Sorry to hear about the fridge and the wall and the kid and the dressing but thanks for the laugh. My addiction is ketchup. And soda. And basically anything that will make my ass bigger.

Anna Lefler said...

Are you kiddin'?

I could eat bear scats if they were dunked in ranch dressing.

You're my kind of people.

XO

Anna

TexasRed said...

Heee... sounds like a blast. Always good to meet another "Shonda."

HeatherPride said...

That is a deep love, to guzzle down a vat of dressing like it was water. I'm kind of impressed, to say the truth.

Trixie said...

*smirks*

I'm so glad my boys are past the terrible twos! Although, I must say, they are still very friggin messy pups!

Petra a.k.a The Wise (*Young*) Mommy said...

OH NO! That sucks, but it is really funny ;)

And I love ranch dressing too. YUM!

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Issas Crazy World said...

I am cracking up.

In my family it's ketchup. I have to watch my girls, because they'll take the packets from places and suck on them.

Lindaloohoo said...

wow, i'm in awe. after reading that story, someone actually told you to stop being such a pussy. pure awesomeness right there.

and thanks for my new favorite phrase - one which i will bandy about with abandon and take full credit for when asked: day drinking. absolute top ten for me.

Chandra said...

I love me some ranch dressing! My husband however could eat that shit like soup! I love it but not THAT much!

noble pig said...

That is so funny...don't feel bad I love ranch too!

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