When I got in from work last night my daughter and my best friend’s daughter were in the kitchen making browniecookies. Some sort of concoction of brownies and chocolate chip cookies. Don’t ask.
Round about 11:30 the friend’s daughter came crashing into my room (she’s the only one of my kid’s friends who would ever have the nerve to enter the inner sanctum; she actually gets into bed with me… pervert) asking if I had anything good to eat, as in, “actual food”. She went on to explain that there is never any food at her house. Poor thing. I told her to have a browniecookie. She sat on the edge of my bed. I could tell she was gearing up to get in it with me. I know from experience that that needed to be avoided at all costs. Because once she was in the bed my daughter would not be far behind. And all the ruckus would wake my husband. And who needs that after a long night of work?
So, I dragged myself out of bed and went into the kitchen where I pulled out leftover roast beef, meatloaf, biscuits, and grilled chicken. Then they spotted the salad. They wanted that, too. With black olives. Oh, and fresh mozzarella and roasted red peppers. I could go on. It was kind of like those Laura Numeroff books I read to them as children, “If You Give a Pig a Pancake” or “If You Give a Moose a Muffin”, except this felt more like “If You Give a Teenager an Inch”. After slicing cucumbers and tomatoes, dragging out dressings and condiments, and locating the jar of red cabbage that I knew was there somewhere, dammit, I had worked up a bit of an appetite myself.
I noted that the buzzards had left enough meatloaf for a decent midnight snack. I got out the rolls and the hot sauce.
We had a nice chat while we chowed down. I could tell they were tired when our conversation descended into “Yo Momma” and “That’s What She Said” jokes. I excused myself and went to bed. They were still awake and giggling when I fell asleep at around 2:00 AM. I woke up a few short hours later regretting every bite of the meatloaf with hot sauce on ciabatta bread that I had so stupidly consumed at midnight. Every last bite.
What I didn’t regret, however, was the opportunity to spend two hours in the company of a couple of very funny, warm, and intelligent 16-year-olds. It was worth all the discomfort that a 5:00 AM bathroom run implies.
photo credit: meat‑loaf.jpg simplyrecipes.com