“I’m hungry, give me something to eat.”
It was not for nothing that the offspring has earned the nickname Bottomless Pit in the house. It is a nickname that is well-earned. It haunts me, that sentence, in my dreams and my waking hours. I get nightmares which have his voice rising plaintively in ear-piercing decibels screaming “I’m hungry give me something to eat,” while I go through a kitchen cabinet in a panic, and with bleeding ears, only to find all the jars with the stash of anytime snacking reduced to zero by the magnificent munching machine I spawned. Oh. That was no nightmare, that was yesterday.
If you have an adolescent in the house, you might find this familiar. One moment you’ve returned from your monthly grocery shopping, carefully packed everything away, stocked the fridge so that the shelves are bulging in a pleasing manner, and you dust your hands with the pleasure of a task well done. A few hours later, make that circa midnight, you are in the market for a snack and you take yourself to the kitchen, visualising the totally yummy sandwich you are going to make yourself from the salami slices, the multigrain bread and the sandwich spread you just put into the fridge a few hours ago. You throw the fridge open and find yourself greeted by the gruesome remains of the empty bread pack, with the thick ends and a few crumbs left considerately behind for anyone who might crave a midnight snack.
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