A Missing Meatball Conundrum

My dining klutziness has gotten worse, since this was published, two-years ago.  With company in for a visit last week, we dined out several times.  Somehow, bits of this or that ended up in my lap or on my shirt.  Souvenir stains I didn’t need or want.


Somewhere between wearable food and klutziness lies the mystery of the missing meatball.

It started when a delectable Italian meatball sandwich met up with yours truly.  I paid for four happy meatballs.  Now, there were only three.  It was sad–because it was only there for a brief moment.

Meatballs can be difficult to control–fair warning from me.  “Meatball control–we have a situation over here, at table 15.”

I hated the “On Top of Spaghetti” song, about a poor meatball that embarked on an unplanned journey when somebody sneezed.

The sneezing part was gross and disgusting.  Wasn’t that why they had sneeze guards at salad bars?

My missing prodigal meatball was nowhere to be found.  What to do–crawl under the table on hands and knees?  The five-second rule had long passed–if anybody followed it.

After paying the tab, getting ready to leave–there it was.  The saucy, recalcitrant, missing meatball was on the floor, under the back of my chair.  It was no longer a meatball worth chasing.

This has been an example of what not to do when eating meatball sandwiches, presented as a public service.  Don’t let this happen to you!


Author: warturoadam77p

70 year old married retired communications worker with three grown children, transplanted from the Midwest to the sunny Gulf Coast.

5 thoughts on “A Missing Meatball Conundrum”

  1. I had an answer for you, but I don’t know how your female followers wold have appreciated it. [with politically correct people around every corner these days, one never knows what one can say or not.]

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