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.

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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!

 

Modern Suburban Fable #4

Mr. Finch fancied himself

A handsome man

Even though, he was

Nearly, seventy-three

Mrs. Finch had gone away

Gone away to work

Mr. Finch couldn’t wait

Mr. Finch was such a jerk

That all changed the day

Mrs. Finch came home early

Mrs. Finch didn’t find it funny

Took Mr. Finch for all his money

When Mr. Finch was caught

With some silly wench

He’d met at the DMV

 

A MISSING MEATBALL CONUNDRUM

Mmm...meatball_sub_(5183008075)

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

It started when a delectable Italian meatball lunch 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 keep under control–fair warning from me.  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?

The 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 really 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!

–Image, http://www.en.wikipedia.org/

LUCKY SEVEN

7-11

There was this man, once, long ago
With no worries, always hurried
And don’t cha’ know, the man
Should’ve been takin’ it slow
Because, of what was
About to come down
At the seven-eleven, that day

For the seven, on the sign
Was loose–about to let go
Don’t cha’ know–and it dropped
Right on top of his head
When he ran out of luck
Right quick–the sign struck

The poor fellow, wouldn’t have
Wanted it, to end that way
But, bless his soul–something
Over which, he had no control
Killed him dead as a stone
And for this man, lucky seven
Wasn’t very lucky that day