I get it, Mom

I have a clear memory of a meal when I was about 15 or 16. Mom had called us to the table and we sat, waiting. She walked in, set a loaf of bread on the table, along with a block of cheese, the tub of margarine, and a bottle of salad dressing. Then she plonked our plates in front of us. Upon each lay a wedge that represented 1/4 of a head of iceberg lettuce.

We looked at her.

She looked back at us.

She shrugged. “I’m sick of making meals.”

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3 thoughts on “I get it, Mom

  1. Sandra says:

    If I’m feeling like that I opt for a get-your own meal i.e. see what you can find in the pantry and get it ready yourself. If I’mlucky someone takes the hint and makes me something too.

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