Fragile Exes, Inheireted Genes, and Chicken Chawarma

I dunno why, but I’m feeling like grasping on to my adoptive families and wishing for the gamble of their tumbled-up master chromosomes.  I could handle being a red-headed Jewish Shikse, or a Southern traitor’s scallawag.  I just wonder what’s in store for my family full of Nordic-plus-Irish-blooded-weirdoes.

Or, take a look at my chromasome-divergent extremeties (ie, my hands)  and tell me what my fate is.  Here they are, wishing they were Lebanese (making Chicken Chawarma).

Choppity Chop

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