I learned to eat from my father. This man grew up in an eight-child household in a six-room house. I'm not sure how they all managed to eat dinner inside that kitchen, which was too small for the four of us (my dad, brother, grandma and me) when I lived there in my teens, but I do know that whoever finished first had a crack at seconds. Too slow and you miss out. Try again tomorrow.
I grew up eating fast. While visiting our dad on Tuesday nights and weekends, he'd ask us what we wanted to eat. The answer was always the same: Kraft Dinner. Why Kraft Dinner? Because it was easy to eat and my brother and I would race. Thus I learned how to eat without chewing.
I kept up these bad habits for a long time. Friends who didn't know I could eat like the wind would be shocked. I have a fond memory of being downtown with two friends, one who knew my speed and another who didn't. I was hungry and wanted a sub. The newer friend groaned and didn't want to wait for me to eat. My best friend was A-ok with the delay, likely knowing it'd take about three minutes.
The newer friend and my best friend talked amongst each other for a couple minutes just as we sat down. Then the new friend turned to me, eyes bulged, "where's the sub?!"
In my tummy, yo.
I've since rectified this problem. I was getting stomach aches. Huh, wonder why when I'm trying to digest meat that's been lazily chewed four times by my under-worked teeth before leaving the rest of the job to my horse-whipped digestive system.
But tonight I threw caution to the wind. Why? Frozen dinner. The Dude has been working on food shoots, and bringing home... food. We've barely bought groceries in over a month. These frozen dinners in particular aren't bad. But to enjoy this pad thai I kind of had to pretend it wasn't supposed to be pad thai and then I doused it with hot sauce. It still wasn't worth savouring and I just wanted to get it over with.
My body is protesting a wee bit. Actually, it's a little nostalgic. I haven't had discomfort like this in awhile. Memories... Ha.
Why is it that when you're 19 you can binge eat McDonald's and nothing really noticeable happens, but when you're 27 anything just a little too processed kicks your ass? Or maybe it's just with me and my small intestine telling me to go fuck myself after years of abuse and neglect.
Either way, damn it.
Before I go, this is worth a look. The Dude and I have five of these hanging on the wall. Nothing says awesome like popculture in cube form! We still need to fold up one more, the Duck Hunt dog. Bitchin'.