Little Tommy Tucker sang for his supper. Lucky dude! I need to dance a jig, bribe, wheedle, and run negotiations that would make a Trade Union Leader proud.
“Dinner’s Ready !” (Me)
Neel : Why?
Me : It’s Yum spinach and corn
Neel : Why ? (Neel’s reaction to anything not Pizza)
Me : Because it will give you muscles like Popeye
Neel : Why ? I wanna look like Ben 10’s aliens (one of whom has Four Arms, and another a Crocodile Head)
Me : Nothing I cook will ever make you look like that !
Neel : So let’s order Pizza !
Next is Nik’s turn. I spend 45 minutes stuffing his face. It’s like stuffing cotton into a pillow. Nik never chews. Nik never swallows. His mouth keeps getting fuller, till the hi-tech machinery inside his mouth churns all the accumulated food into a looooooong noodle which he spits out at the nearest impossible-to-clean surface.
My dog Marco pops an eyebrow up at his dinner bowl with a Where’s-the-pizza,-Woman? Look and goes back to licking his balls, which he thinks are tons tastier.
By the time, it’s all over, I’m boiling and my own dinner’s cold. “I’m going to bed hungry,” I announce, expecting everyone to melt with sympathy.
“That’s not fair. Why can’t I do that?” – from Neel.
Thank God for S, who is a human vacuum cleaner and eats everything that’s left over. He is one of those gifted persons who eats like he’s pregnant but still looks like a noodle (that Nik spat out).