The curious tale of The Fat Ball

This is a fat ball. They are usually made of kitchen scraps, cheese and melted lard. They are usually eaten by birds, not human men.


Enter the husband of one MNer...

"He has eaten a fat ball," she writes.

"And complained to me that it was a bit greasy.

The eejit has eaten the fatballs made by the children in a park last week, and left in the fridge to solidify. I have no idea what culinary delight he thought they were supposed to be.

I wouldn't mind, but he was there when they made them."


Wait, what?

"Because there was football on the telly, I nipped to a mate's. He thought I had left them for snacks. I don't know what to do."


"He is 48 years old. Stuff like this isn't in marriage guidance leaflets."


Useful suggestions are forthcoming: "Buy him some extra bog roll and leave him to it," says another MNer, helpfully.


But the original poster, fearing a nocturnal explosion, is in a quandary.  

"I want to go to bed now. Do I sleep in matrimonial bed and risk it - or spare bed, and leave him to whatever occurs? I have meetings in the morning in a professional office with professional people who don't have idiots as husbands." 


It turns out the husband in question thought the fat ball was "one of those artisan scotch egg type things."

Easy mistake to make.


Naturally, precautions must be taken. 


The term "Dutch Oven" is mentioned, to universal horror.


But thankfully, the poster manages to avoid the worst: 

"Well, a small victory: small child has appeared in the main bed, so old numbskull is in spare bed. The only downside is that I have to sleep on his side of the bed. Which doesn't smell right. No bottom leakage so far. 

Lard is rendered pig fat, isn't it? So it must have had some heat processing? I think I am clutching at straws..."


This video is added to the mix. It seems strangely apt. 


BUT, defying logic and justice, the fat ball nibbler in question experiences no severe digestive issues. 

"I'm in from work now, and thought a picture of the remaining fat balls would just round this saga off perfectly. So to recap: 3 kids - 2 mine, one friend's - made the fat balls. All 3 balls were in the fridge. I go in to retrieve one of balls to take a picture, and smallest one comes up behind me.

"Oh, we have to hang those up for the birds!"

"Yes, I just need to take a picture."

"Well, take a photo of mine...

...That's not mine. Where's mine gone?"

Lower lip quivering…

She knows it's hers - different colour string apparently.

She is just about to have a massive hissy fit but stops in her tracks when I say: Daddy ate it by mistake.

"But it's for the birds. Mummy, WHY did Daddy eat it?"

She told the oldest one and they have not stopped laughing. A family legend has begun.

And they all live happily ever after.



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Last updated: about 3 years ago