You Are What You
Eat
by William P
Adams
Seven-year-old
Mia skipped home along the cement sidewalk after
spending the morning and lunch with her best
friend, Kelly Franklin. Having recently mastered
the fine art of skipping, Mia’s twin
pigtails flapped side-to-side in the late June
sunshine as she bounced along in faded denim
overalls, her PF Flyers barely slapping the
pavement. As she bounded up onto the covered
porch, the family feline, Butchie, a large male
Maine Coon, raised a tawny head from his perch,
an old, overstuffed armchair, and, seeing a
friendly face, settled lazily back down to dream
his cat-dreams, undoubtedly of captive mice and
other creepy crawlies.
Mia’s mother, awash in paint splatter from
her latest artistic endeavor – a three-panel
mural of a country garden scene on the stairwell
leading to the 100-year-old Craftsman’s
daylight basement, heard the front door crash
open and went to greet her precocious only child.
“Hi, Mia Cara, how was your morning at Kelly’s?”
“Oh, fine, except for lunch. We played on
the swing set and made believe the ground was hot
lava.”
“What about lunch? I thought Kelly’s
mom always fixed things you like.”
“Not today. Kelly said her mom is now a
Vegetable Tareyton.”
“Vegetable Tareyton? You mean a vegetarian?”
“No, Kelly said Vegetable Tareyton. She said
her mom won’t fix anything that has a face.”
“Okay… So, what did she fix for lunch
today?”
“Two freaky dogs. They looked like hot dogs,
but they sure didn’t taste like hot dogs.”
“Two freaky dogs? Hmm, I bet they were
Tofurky dogs. So, you didn’t like the way
they tasted?”
“No way… Kelly’s brother, Mooney,
said they taste like ass.”
“Language, Mia. We don’t say “ass”
in that context. I know Mooney Franklin is twelve
years old, but he should be setting a better
example for Kelly.”
“He knows a lot more swears than that, Mom.
You should hear him.”
“Well, we’ll talk about that later.
Tell me, what did the Tofurky dogs taste like to
you?”
“Like throw up… I couldn’t even
finish mine. Kelly asked me to sneak her a couple
of Slim Jims through her bedroom window tonight.”
Mia’s mother, who made a mean pot roast and
wasn’t averse to the occasional barbecued
brisket sandwich, nevertheless, felt she was in
no position to usurp the dietary will of Mrs.
Franklin, and counseled Mia thusly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,
Mia. But I can see how, after eating a certain
way all your life, it might be difficult to adapt
to the changes.”
Mia took her mother’s advice under
advisement and after a dinner of roast chicken
with new potatoes, peas, carrots, and a fresh
garden salad, she skipped to the bodega on the
corner, procured the asked-for Slim Jims, and
then furtively delivered the salty snacks to a
grateful and awaiting Kelly Franklin.
Postscript – Kelly and Mooney’s mother,
who, after a few weeks of living as a Vegetable
Tareyton, had an epiphany, and declared
henceforth that the Franklins would now be adding
fish to their list of lawful comestibles.
Mia apprised her mother of the development,
claiming that the Franklins were now Pesky
Tareytons.
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