Coming out of the theatre after Harry Potter...
I told Cory, “That was the best one so far. Did you like it?”
“Yeah,” he mumbled. Good stuff.”
“It was long though, I’m starving. And I need you to run me by the hospital for a sec...”
I continue on with the food talk. “I need sustenance. Real food. The popcorn didn’t do it for me. I want mashed potatoes and gravy. Let’s go to KFC.”
Cory: “OK. We’ll go run your errands first.”
My head spun round like the exorcist. “NO! We are going to KFC!”
“Uh. Ok. Right. Food first.”
While the above is a dramatization of real events, there is a lesson to be learned. If I go too long between having something to eat, I get so incredibly hungry that I feel as though I need to hunt and kill, and will do so if I’m not fed immediately. You know in the movies when someone eats a turkey leg (why is it always a turkey leg? So disgusting) after they’ve been imprisoned for some time? How they shovel it all in their mouth and grease is dripping everywhere and they don’t care, then they gulp down red wine while food is still in their mouths, waiting to be chewed? Ick. Gross. I hate those scenes. Loathe them. I always think of that horrible actress from Indiana Jones.
Well, in a way, that’s been me. I was at home alone one morning and woke up not feeling so great. I fell back asleep and when I woke up the second time, I was ravenous. I got up, shaking, and went into the kitchen. I saw lemon-blueberry bread and tore into it, not waiting to slice it like a civilized person, but ripping it from its snug plastic wrap. From there, I moved on, peeling the skin off a Clementine, and then tossing back a handful of almonds, which made me thirsty. I opened the fridge, grasped the milk with both hands and gulped from the jug. OK, not really, but you get the idea.
The lesson, people? Don’t mess with Momma when she’s hungry. Feed her, or die.
