Hello. It’s me.
That’s the kind of look that used to garner me a handful of precisely cut-and-cubed string cheese.
You remember that story about Pavlov’s Dog? Well, we’re all trained in one way or another. I trained my Dad to believe that I’d never eat regular dog food – my Dad trained me to believe that I’d be fed a sampling of human foods that I had the option to
It’s a mind game that up until last Thursday I was #winning.
Now I’m served a chunky assemblage of dry meat and grain shavings, formed into a collection of unappetizing pebbles.
How do you like the four strays at the bottom of the image? I mean, presentation matters amirite?
Not that I was ever going to eat the pebbles out of the bowl. Or Dad’s hand. So far, Mom has to put ’em in her hand. Her hands are nice, creamy, soft … they make for a fine dining experience. Dad’s hands taste like a combination of plastic laptop keyboard and utilitarian hand soap. #notappetizing.
Last night marked hour ninety-six of this miserable diet. I commemorated the anniversary by howling in the pantry.
What was I looking for?
No, not the quinoa … the Special-K bars!! Of course, I cannot sup on chocolate, but that’s not what this is all about, is it? This is all about unfettered access to anything readily available to Mom and Dad. And so far, they’ve held firm, something I didn’t expect.
But I have time on my side, my friends. Time. The gears of time will work in my favor, and will eliminate my self-imposed hunger pangs via the foods I prefer to sample.