Feed 'Em. . .

"Fish head, fish heads.
Roly-poly fish heads. . .
Fish heads, fish heads,
Eat them up, Yum!" - Dr. Demento

Ah, the good old days. . .when we were young and skinny and could eat our weight in Mr. Gatti's Pizza and Hot Fries. . .

Why is it that a high metabolism is wasted on the young? They load up on Mountain Dew and Food Court offerings, hardly tasting the junk they're swallowing, then expostulate theirinability to squeeze into their Aeropostale size zeroes. . .

In the last year or so, I've lost a good bit of weight. This is not easy for a woman whose life revolves around people who constantly scream "Feed ME!" My first though in the morning (well, after COFFEE. . .and who put that glass in the sink!?) is what to fix for dinner that night. Not that MY tastes or cravings have much to do with it (A block of cheese and a Margarita. . .it's what's for dinner. . .) as I generally have a dime-sized portion of whatever they're having and a frisbee-sized salad.

I must plan a feast that can be smothered in Ranch to appease the ladies and yet meets the exacting freshness criteria of our resident food snob. (Is this fresh rosemary on these potatoes, Mother? Halfway Between and his sensitive palate. . .)

Yes, gone are the days when I could eat as many tacos as my Dad and brother combined while cheering for the 'Aints on a Sunday afternoon. Then later, I'd work it off by dancing around alone in my room and listening to the Dr. Demento show. . .

Boy, was I a nerd or what? Where was I??

Oh, yes, what's for dinner? The nagging question that troubles every mother at six-fifty-five in the a.m. and will continue to beleaguer my brain until about five-fifty-five in the p.m.

Sigh. . .

I wonder if they make a "Fish Head Helper?"

Have fun!