Chicken Butcher

I was practicing my violin, when I heard a yell from the kitchen.  "Woman!"

It was my husband.

"I'm kind of busy," I said.  "What do you need?"

"Woman, get over here," he said. 

I sighed and put down my violin.  I walked into the kitchen to see what the man wanted.

He was standing next to the chicken I had made.  "Woman, you do not know how to cut a chicken."

"You intererupted my practicing to tell me that?"

"This is a disgrace.  Completely unacceptable!  You mutilated this thing!"

Yeah, so?  I had pulled off the legs and wings, and sliced through the breasts.  Then I plopped them on a plate and served them to my kids.  What was the big deal?

"Woman, you need to be taught how to properly cut a chicken."

So now I have an assignment.  I am to go to the store, purchase another chicken, prepare it, and then attend my husband's school for the culinary arts to learn how to properly cut it.

And all I wanted to do was practice my violin!  Oy gewalt!