SMINGUS DYNGUS—Laurie Michales AKA SMINGUS DYNGUS
SMINGUS DYNGUS BY SMINGUS DYNGUS
Do we really have to suffer this tradition? Anya thought. Oh well, a small price to pay. She would chalk it up to a bonding experience with her mother.
What better way to say “HE HAS RISEN” than to gorge yourself on a Smingus-Dyngus casserole provided you have enough sauerkraut and kielbasa left over from Easter dinner. Anya helped while her mother barked orders.
You need a basket, get a basket, a nice basket!
Now, we make the butter lamb.
You know, the lamb mold I sent you for St. Stanislaus Day. Go get it!
Where did you put the butter? I left it out last night to soften? Get the butter.
After hours of restructuring Easter’s leftovers Mom proudly put everything on the table.
Yeah, dinner’s ready everyone; mmmm look what Babki made for us.
The kids were horrified knowing they were going to have to eat because Babki went through “so much trouble” to prepare this nice traditional meal.
Anya couldn’t help but Thank God that she had a husband with a non-discerning palette. Jerry would eat a big heaping help of anything as long as he could smear enough mayonnaise on it.
Anya would have to keep her gag reflexes in check. She had always hated Smingus Dyngus food. Easter food was disgusting enough. She wasn’t a fan of the food when it was new. Now, today, Mom was going to re-introduce it as a Smingus Dyngus feast.
The red and green cabbage leaves held the sauerkraut and cheese next to the kielbasa. The ham topping looked like finely shredded peeps bleeding all over the casserole.
Every year, Easter Monday was the same torture. Well, this Smingus Dyngus day was going to be different Anya thought. She excused herself from the table and returned with her Accordian to play “Who Stole the Kishka”, followed by a nice Polka.
Her children silently wondered if the torture would ever end.
Anya knew that by the time she finished the Polka her buckets on the back stoop would be filled with cold water from the garden hose.
* Some internet plagiarism