Anyone for chicken?

She took out a package of frozen chicken breasts this morning and put them in the sink to thaw. But we ate dinner at Subway. So I ask her to cook the chicken breasts before they go bad, and we could eat them tomorrow. Next time I see her, she's sorting laundry. I ask her to cook the chicken. Next time I see her, she's rearranging the living room. I ask her to cook the chicken--the chicken in the sink. I go into the bathroom to rinse away the itchy little hairs left over from my haircut today. She knocks on the door and says, "I don't know what I'm supposed to wash." I say, "Don't wash anything, cook the chicken. Cut it into little pieces, put them in the frying pan, cook it, put them in the refrigerator, we'll eat them tomorrow." When I finish washing my head, I go into the kitchen to find her folding a large empty frozen food package that I recognize as Adam's chicken nuggets. The frying pan is sizzling with frozen breaded chunks of chicken that are meant to be heat-and-serve. I look at the raw chicken breasts in the sink. "What," she says, "isn't this what you wanted me to do?" I tell her I wanted her to cook the raw chicken in the sink. "I thought you wanted me to cook ALL the chicken," she says.