Road Kill & Street Chicken

My closest friends in this world know that there are two Ashtons they have to learn to love: normal Ashton and Panic Ashton. Panic Ashton, while in action, is a terrifying, what-in-the-world-is-she-doing monstrosity of spazz like you've never seen. But afterwards, she will make you laugh your head off. She will make herself laugh her own head off.

So Panic Ashton has been making more appearances lately. For those who read my Facebook post yesterday, you know that I heated a pan on high and poured tomato sauce in, resulting in World War Tomato Sauce. I looked like I had been shot multiple times, but I smelled like ketchup so it wasn't all bad.

What you don't know is what else happened yesterday. Something that makes tomato bullets seem like child's play.

I'll set the scene.

It was my turn to take dinner to a new mom at church. So I get an Aldi's paper bag out and load it with Mexican chicken, garlic bread, and a bag of salad. Easy peasy. On the road I go.

The entrance to her apartment complex is hidden in an alley so I wasn't sure if I was at the right place (there are many apartments in this area). So I get out, call her and tell her to open her door so I can see if I'm at the right place.

She does. Don't see anyone. Realize I'm at the wrong place.

Some kids are staring at me at this point while I get in my car and loop around the block to find the right place. WHY ARE YOU STARING AT ME, KIDS? MIND YOUR OWN! (I later learn why they're staring at me).

Get to the right apartment and reach over to get the food. THERE IS NO MORE PAPER BAG.

Instant flashback of me putting the paper bag of food on the roof while I waited for her to come to the door of the other apartment. Ya'll. I DROVE DOWN THE ROAD WITH FOOD ON MY CAR AND IT FELL OFF. I was involved in a Mexican chicken drive-by murder.

Instant panic sets in. I am shaking and twitching and all the other fun things that come, batteries included, with Panic Ashton. I drive back to the other apartment and I can't find the bag of food on the ground anywhere. MORE PANIC. The kids are STILL STARING AT ME. Because they now know me as the girl who sent Mexican chicken flying off my roof. Panic Ashton almost asked them if they had seen my Mexican chicken, but regular Ashton took over for a brief moment and said, "That's stupid. They're kids. Don't bring their innocence into this."

I call Justin and I say, "Something very bad has happened and I no longer have the food. Please go to Dairy Queen and get them some chicken tenders. I need you to do this."

He has learned to not ask Panic Ashton questions so he just said, "Come home and I'll take it from here."

I get home, sit on the couch, and nurse my adrenaline rush headache while Justin goes to bring them fast food. Several minutes later, he arrives home holding a paper bag. "I found this in the middle of the road on the way back."

I open it up and laugh.

The Mexican chicken is mangled but it is all still in the container. "Well, at least you have lunch for the rest of the week," he said.

When I told my friend (who LOVES Panic Ashton) this story, she said,  "That recipe will forever be called street chicken to me."

Oh for the love of street chicken. I ate it today for lunch and it was quite tasty for Jonesboro roadkill.

I was going to try to roll this into a spiritual analogy about how anxious people struggle with the concept of peace and what it feels like, but I don't think even the best preacher can follow STREET CHICKEN.

So I'll just pray for peace, less Panic Ashton visits, and that all of you who put up with me in this state will receive extra jewels in your crown when you hit heaven's gates.