Thursday, December 15, 2005

Buried In My Kitchen

When I was young, I had toast for breakfast every morning. I would eat it in the basement while watching the morning cartoons. And after every meal, I would take the crusts of my toast and shove them into the little cupboard of my Fisher-Price kitchen set, so I would't have to eat them.
This continued for a very long time. I had a secret home-made crouton stash going on for months, because the crusts would dry out and shrink, so there seemed to be a bottomless pit to store them in.
Then one day my dad was playing with my downstairs and he opened the cupboard of my mini-kitchen and the secret mound of crusts came tumbling out all over him.
I got in trouble.
And one other time my mom told me that I had to have a piece of fruit before I could have a cookie, so I went to the kitchen, peeled a banana, proceeded to ram the inside down the garburator, then gently placed the peel on the top of the garbage pail, to make it look like I had eaten it so I could have a cookie.
I was such a schemer! My mom says I will surely pay for my sins by giving birth to a child just as terrible as I was. I am beginning to fear her prediction.

Amanda Brown at 3:48 PM



at 5:29 PM Blogger Momma said...

You little turkey!I never knew about that!Beware-surely your sins will find you out!

at 6:18 PM Blogger Isabella said...

I love your garbureator story, (wait how do you spell that?). That was genius right there!

at 8:25 AM Blogger bpetkau said...

Well, I also did not like to eat my crusts in spite of the assurance from my father that "they help you whistle". Under threat of corporal punishment, I would eat my bread at the table and sneak the crust below the table surface. Our table was one of those models that could be made larger by splitting it and adding a leaf. There was a metal rod that held the table together that was perfect for hanging my crusts. Apparently, I was sneaky enough to hang my crusts but not smart enough to come back later to destroy the evidence. My mother was washing the floor one day on her knees and looked up to see a row of dried crusts hanging neatly from the rod. I don't remember being punished for my sins but I can imagine her laughter as she found them.


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