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Did you know, many, many years ago, my big sister threw her peas behind the stove when Irene and Vern were distracted by The Ed Sullivan Show?
It wasn’t her fault. It was that darn dictum that one should eat everything on one’s plate. How silly is that?
The “clean your plate law” that was in vogue in the late 1940s when I was just a little tyke has sadly stayed with me all these decades.
I’m sitting there all by myself at the kitchen table. Sherry has left the kitchen to water the petunias before dark. I’m in total control. In front of me is an unidentifiable portion of steak. It’s got a lot of gristle on the edges. Sherry calls it marbling. I call it fat that has cooled and turned an even whiter shade of white. I’ve cut around this piece of meat, first eating those portions most desirable. What’s left reminds me of the cold green peas on my sister’s plate from many years ago.
The voice of Vern comes blasting through my head. “Donald, eat all that’s on your plate.”
I look out the window. Sherry is a safe distance away.
I’ll leave you hanging. What did Donald do next?