Chicken Boobs

My grocery list hangs on the cabinet so Austin can write any needs we may have. Imagine my amusement when I saw we needed chicken boobs.

Me: I told the people at work about you and the chicken boobs.
Austin, rubbing his man chest and doing the chicken dance: You like my chicken boobs?
Me: I was talking about the grocery list.
Austin: We needed chicken boobs.
Me, rolling eyes.
Austin: Admit it, it made you laugh.
Me: I smirked.
Austin: There. Then it served its purpose.