When my brother and I were in what was then called junior high school there was a period of about a month when he and I would eat our evening meal by ourselves. Dad was working a shift that kept him through the early evening. Mom was seeing to a sick relative in the evening, but she left our meals for us to warm up.
Being in those ravenous high growth teen years, both of us tackled food like it might escape if we didn’t subdue it and consume it rapidly. Manners fell by the wayside. We were so intent on eating that we barely talked. If my brother wanted the butter, instead of “Will you pass me the butter?” he would just point at it with one hand while the other hand wielded a fork to stab another morsel… and his mouth was occupied with the last forkful. I fell into the same pattern: Point at the salt, your brother pushes it toward you.
One hamburger night, a lapse on my part. For whatever reason, I spoke my request: “Can you pass me the mustard?”
Without even a split second of comic pause, he said, “What’s the matter? Cat got your finger?”
Yes, it cracked me up. (But maybe you had to be there?)
He was a pretty quick wit for a thirteen year old.
When my brother and I were in what was then called junior high school there was a period of about a month when he and I would eat our evening meal by ourselves. Dad was working a shift that kept him through the early evening. Mom was seeing to a sick relative in the evening, but she left our meals for us to warm up.
Being in those ravenous high growth teen years, both of us tackled food like it might escape if we didn’t subdue it and consume it rapidly. Manners fell by the wayside. We were so intent on eating that we barely talked. If my brother wanted the butter, instead of “Will you pass me the butter?” he would just point at it with one hand while the other hand wielded a fork to stab another morsel… and his mouth was occupied with the last forkful. I fell into the same pattern: Point at the salt, your brother pushes it toward you.
One hamburger night, a lapse on my part. For whatever reason, I spoke my request: “Can you pass me the mustard?”
Without even a split second of comic pause, he said, “What’s the matter? Cat got your finger?”
Yes, it cracked me up. (But maybe you had to be there?)
He was a pretty quick wit for a thirteen year old.