Hunger Games

My seven sisters should thank me and my brothers for their slim figures when they were young. If it weren't for the race for food at the dinner table some of them might have plumped up a bit. Eleven children, one dinner table, and four boys who could eat fast. We would shut out those girls every time. I believe my younger brother Gary was the fastest eater of us four boys. He could beat out a star nosed mole (fastest eating mammal, I looked it up. Takes as little as 120 milliseconds to identify and consume individual food items.). You had to be very cautious extending your hand out over that dinner table.

I still eat fast. Even when I try to go slow, I am already washing off my plate while Mark is still cutting his meat. One thing I have always believed, is that it shouldn't take longer to prepare food than it takes to eat it. Obviously, I welcomed the invention of the household microwave oven. Yesterday Mark spent hours in the kitchen making chicken and dumplings. If it wasn't for the fact that it was as hot as lava when he served it, I could have finished it off in about two minutes flat. It was delicious. After dinner I am expected to clean up the kitchen that Mark has spent so much time preparing dinner in. Last night it took me forty five minutes, or twenty two times longer than it took me to eat dinner. Once again, not only should it not take longer to prepare the food I eat as it takes me to eat it, it shouldn't take me that long to clean up afterwards. I'm thinking of installing a garden hose and floor drain in the kitchen to expedite things in the future. Either that or install stairs so that Chandler can climb up to the counters and lick everything clean.