camel ribs

This story starts of innocently enough.

It was a Special Day, and we were all celebrating by eating a meal not pre-prepared by Costco. There were ribs, and potatoes, and mixed vegetables from a big plastic bag. The ribs, however, were not the baby-back ribs we normally eat. They were huge, and The Pretty One asked, all innocently curious, what kind of ribs they were.

It's my brain's fault, because it is devious and mean and it thinks it's funny. I didn't even pause, just said, with a straight face and uninflected voice. "They're camel ribs. Duh."

At my side, The Smart One nodded. "Duh."

The Pretty One looked appropriately doubtful. "Don't lie to me," she said.

Again: It's my brain's fault. 

"No, look," I said. "Think about it. Have you ever seen a cow?" I held the rib I was munching on. "They're not shaped like this. At all."

The Pretty One still looked doubtful. I sighed, and presented her with my argument. 

And, obviously, the ribs we were eating looked more camel-shaped. 

Duh, The Pretty One. Seriously.

Everyone at the table nodded. Of course.

The matter was settled, until six months later, out to dinner with friends, The Pretty One turns to me and says, all accusation and dawning realization: "... We don't eat camel ribs, do we?"