Don't Call Me Late For Dinner

I can still remember the time I heard Mom's dinner bell ringing in the distance as I kissed a frog hoping it would turn into Caroline Ingalls, my childhood crush.

                                                 

(What a class act!)

My wild imagination always did get the best of me, and Mom knew it, she also knew that of all the things I loved in the world, dinner was the thing I loved the most. So whenever I was even a little late for dinner Mom would send me to bed without it. This was probably the most effective law Mom made, I was never late for dinner again and that's why I blame my Mom for my habit of over eating.

You see, because Mom made such an extreme punishment for being late, it caused me to hold dinner in such high regards that come five o'clock I could think of nothing else but Moms sweet microwaved, dinosaur chicken nuggets,

and that's why now that I'm a grown man I start salivating every evening at five o'clock.

Isn't it funny how these things work? One day you're a little boy fantasizing about Caroline Ingalls, and the next your a 250 pound, 5 ft 2 man living in you're Moms basement.

Sometimes I ask myself "How did I get here?" and then I realize I never left, I'm still that scared, plump little boy hoping he won't be late for dinner, but maybe, just maybe the hero I know I have inside of me will rear its beautiful head.