A Letter To Daria

Short summary:

Quinn writes a letter to Daria.

A LETTER TO DARIA

Daria!

Hi, sis! (Now that you’re in college, I can call you sister, and you can call me sister, there’s no problem!) You asked me to write to you if anything unusual happened in the family. Here’s what happened this week.

Mom brought a big chicken from the store. She put it into a freezer and said:

"If dad comes before me, let him boil it into soup, okay? You will tell him?"

I said:

"Of course!"

And mom returned to work. And I decided to paint things. I decided to draw a squirrel on a tree, but when I finished, I saw that it looked more like a man: the squirrel’s tail was like a nose, while the tree-branches were like hair, ears, and a hat. I was kind of surprised as to how did that happen, and when dad came home I said:

"Hey dad, what did I draw?"

He looked and said:

"A forest fire?"

I said:

"Look closer, daddy."

He said:

"Sorry, is this a football game?"

I said:

"Are you tired, daddy?"

He said:

"Not really, just rather hungry. Do you know anything about dinner?"

I said:

"There’s a chicken in a freezer. Boil it!"

He put the chicken onto the table and said:

"It's easy to say – boil it! It’s easy to boil. The question it, how should we boil it? One can make one from a hundred nutritious dishes from this chicken. We can make simple chicken cutlets, or we can make minister’s fillet with grapes. We can make fillet on a stick, we can boil the chicken with noodles, or we can squash it with a flatiron, cover it with garlic and make a ‘tobacco chicken’. We can also make…"

I interrupted him. I said:

"Dad, make something simple without flatirons involved. Something quick, you understand?"

Dad instantly agreed:

"Right, Quinn! What we need is to quickly eat! You cut the matter to the quick! What we can make quickly? The answer is plain and easy: soup! Chicken soup!"

I asked:

"Do you know how to make soup?"

Daddy just laughed:

"What’s there to make?" – His eyes shone. – "Chicken soup is easier than boiling turnips: put into the water and let it boil, that’s all. The matter is settled. We make chicken soup and have a two-course dinner: first chicken soup with bread, then steamy, hot, boiled chicken."

I said:

"So what should I do?"

He said:

"See? There is some sort of hairs on the chicken. Cut them off. I'll be in the kitchen, boiling water."

He went into the kitchen. And I took scissors and began to cut the hairs. In the beginning I thought that there were few of them, but then I had a closer look and saw that there were a lot of them. So I started to cut them down quickly, as in a barber’s shop.

Dad came back, took a look and said:

"I think you should take more off the sides!"

I said:

"It’s not easy, you know?"

Suddenly, dad had a brainwave:

"We're wasting time, Quinn! Stop the cutting! We’ll singe it over the flame. You get it? We’ll hold it over the fire and all the hairs will be burned-off. Follow me!"

He took the chicken and retreated to the kitchen. I followed.

We lit-up a new burner, because a pot of water was on the first one already, and started to singe the chicken over the flame. And it burned, and you could smell burned hair all over the house. Dad rotated the chicken and continuously spoke:

"Now-now! What a good chicken! Now all the hair will be singed-off and it’ll become clean and white."

However, the chicken became black for some reason, chary even, and dad finally turned-off the gas.

He said:

"I think it got smoked somehow. Do you like smoked chicken?"

I said:

"I think it’s not smoked, just covered in soot. I'll wash it."

Dad brightened-up:

"Good thinking, Quinn. Just like Daria and me. All righty then, wash it over the sink, ‘cause I'm kind of tired."

He sat on a stool, and I came over to the sink, put the chicken under the running water, and started to scrub it with my hands. The chicken was hot and dirty by now, and I instantly dirtied my hands to the elbows. Dad just sat on a stool.

"See dad what did you do with it?" I said. "It can’t be washed clean! There’s so much soot on it, it is scary!"

"Nonsense," dad said, "soot’s only above. It couldn’t have turned to soot, it just couldn’t! Wait a sec!"

He went to the bathroom and brought a big piece of strawberry-scented soap from there. "All right," he said. "Now try to soap it up!"

And I started to wash this wretched hen with soap. She now looked really pathetic. I soaped it up right and proper, but it still washed really poorly, the mud dropped from it for a half an hour already, I’d guess, but the chicken still wasn't clean. I said:

"This wretched hen is impervious to soap or something!"

Dad said:

"Here’s a brush! Rub with it! First the back and then the rest…"

I started to rub. I rubbed so well, that the skin got rubbed-away in some places. But it was getting hard, ‘cause the chicken as if returned to life and started to jerk in my arms, trying to get out of them. And dad just commanded on his stool:

"Rub harder! Rub better! Hold its’ wings! I see that you can’t wash a chicken!"

I said:

"Dad, you try it!"

I handed the chicken to dad. But as he was taking it, it jumped out of my hands and under the furthest cupboard. But daddy didn't give-up. He ordered:

"Hand me the mop!"

And when I gave him the mop, daddy used to get the chicken from under the cupboard. With the chicken came an old mouse-trap and one of my lipsticks (one that is so last year!).

Finally, dad pulled the chicken out. It was all dusty, and dad was all sweaty! He grasped the chicken under the sink and started to wash it again, saying:

"I got you know, you bloody phoenix!"

And he washed it pretty clean and put it into the pot.

But then mom returned. She said:

"What is this disarray all about?"

Dad said:

"We're boiling the chicken."

Mom said:

"For how long?"

Dad said:

"Just put it in."

Mom said:

"Salted it?"

Dad said:

"When it’s done."

Mom smelled and said:

"Gutted it?"

Dad said:

"Later, when it’s done."

Mom got the chicken out of the pot and said: "It looks like we're going to have frozen lasagne tonight, you wretched cooks!"

I remembered about the drawing and showed it to mom. "Mom," I said. "Guess what I've drawn!"

Mom looked and said:

"A sewing machine, right?"

This is all the excitement that happened this week! Right more to you later, Daria!

Your sister, Quinn.