Freddy is excited about lunch because he gets to try Spam for the first time. His mom told him she would serve it sometime this week and it is the end of the week, so he thinks today must be the day. He runs downstairs toward the dining room. As usual, he doesn’t wear his eyeglasses because they’re uncomfortable. But his myopic vision discerns a plate sitting on the dining table, which isn’t set but they’re an informal family. The closer he gets to the table, the better he is able to make out a pinkish, rectangular shaped piece of meat in the plate. Eagerly, he picks it up and bites down, but the texture is rubbery and the taste isn’t anything he’s ever had before.
“Dumbo!” Freddy turns around to the sound of his sister’s laughing.
“You’re eating my phone case. I left it there to soak in baking soda to get the stains off. Now, you put your teeth marks on it.” His sister charges over to him and grabs her case from his hands.
“Next time, wear your glasses, so you can see what you’re doing,” she says, as she walks away with her phone case and a faint smile.
Penny and her brother, Sam, are browsing in aisle 7 at a local store, which is fairly crowded that day. Penny gasps as she senses something deep in her intestines. She sidles to Sam as she releases a silent sulfurous odor. As people nearby glance their way, they see a girl acting as if her brother is guilty of something. His face, in turn, is flushed, though not from embarrassment but from holding his breath.
Image from Pixabay
©2015 Karina Pinella
Ages ago I drove more than 10 miles just to look at a free-range chicken. It wasn’t even a live one; it was frozen. Those were the times when antibiotic-free meat or chicken was a rarity. It would cost an arm and a leg to buy a lean, but clean chicken that wasn’t an antibiotic addict. As a student with no cash flow at the time, I could only stare at the chicken and weighed the costs in my head. Do I spend the rest of the day panhandling for a healthy meal, or do I go back home and eat whatever there is and do my homework? Continue reading
My bro’ is stew, or in the sewers. I am sorry for what I did, but I was tired.
Bub, my bro’, weighed a ton. For breakfast, he would eat six bowls of Honey Monster Puffs, five fried eggs, four strawberry Pop-Tarts, three buttered waffles, two thick slabs of bacon, and a partridge in a pear tree. I exaggerate. He did not eat the tree. I will not bother writing the rest of what he would eat during the rest of the day; it will just make my journal look like a grocery list. And remind me how close to broke I was getting because food is not getting cheaper. It is a good thing I get to take home some leftovers from Hog Heaven, where I wash dishes and bus tables. I also get a 10% discount at the Food Mart, where I stock the shelves three days a week.