1. Email husband confirming his plans to roast a chicken for dinner.
2. Realize that chicken husband purchased is eight pounds, not three.
3. Realize that since chicken is eight pounds, not three, you yourself will have to prepare and put chicken in oven if you want to eat dinner at eight-thirty and not ten.
4. Put stuffing in olive oil to soak. Zest a lemon. Chop parsley. Feel confidently culinary.
5. Pat bird dry, rub with olive oil, salt and pepper. Continue feeling confidently culinary.
6. Peel back skin at the neck of the chicken and cut in with a small paring knife to remove the wishbone.
7. Fail to locate wishbone in anticipated location.
8. Start over.
9. Fail to locate wishbone in any location.
10. Hack randomly at chicken neck in vain attempt to accidentally dislodge wishbone.
11. Return to laptop; type "how to remove wishbone from chicken" into Google.
12. Scream.
13. Wash hands. Carefully clean chicken detritus off trackpad/keyboard. Re-Google.
14. Watch instructive video on wishbone removal.
15. Return to kitchen. Cut confidently into chicken.
16. Fail to locate wishbone.
17. Wash hands, return to laptop. Watch five more instructive videos on wishbone removal.
18. Develop a passionate, all-consuming hatred for the way that one guy blithely says, "Of course you'll be able to feel the wishbone," BECAUSE WHO THE HELL IS HE TO TELL YOU WHAT YOU FEEL.
19. Call husband. Leave voicemail message asking what will happen if chicken goes into oven with its wishbone still intact.
20. Call again; leave followup message expressing doubts as to existence of wishbone in general.
21. Return to kitchen. Insert stuffing into chicken cavity. Be rough.
22. Stab chicken for good measure.
23. Open wine.
24. Leave followup message to your followup message suggesting that considering all the genetic modifications to chickens these days, the least they could do is make one that doesn't have a wishbone.
25. Send text message threatening to throw chicken against the wall.
26. Answer phone. Say you are glad that it doesn't really matter. Assure husband as to un-hurled state of chicken.
27. Hang up, return to kitchen. Insert chicken into oven. Refill wine glass.
28. Answer phone. Assure husband as to in-the-oven status of chicken.
29. Assure husband that of course you know that you need a pan with high sides, because using a pan without high sides will cause the drippings to fall onto the heating element and catch fire.
30. Hang up.
31. GOD FUCKING DAMNIT OF COURSE YOU DIDN'T KNOW THAT, HOW THE HELL WOULD ANYONE KNOW THAT, AND THE KITCHEN IS PROBABLY ALREADY ON FIRE.
32. Run to kitchen. Fling open oven door. Remove low-sided baking sheet holding chicken.
33. Fall to knees in gratitude for un-flaming state of the oven.
34. Ready chicken for transfer to a high-sided pan.
35. As you transfer the chicken, tell yourself that it's really fine.
36. Really, it's not like anyone will ever know that this happened. It's not like there will be evidence. It's not like, for instance, the inappropriately low-sided pan will betray your failure by retaining a crime-scene-style outline of the place where the chicken was ly--
37. Nevermind.
38. Also, what the hell.
38. Hide pan under sink. Refill wine glass. Curse the universe. Vow never to roast a chicken again. Mean it.
39. Eat chicken. Try to ignore the taste of guilt and incompetence.
40. Weeks later, when husband inquires as to whereabouts of pan, lie.
