Altered Egos

Between the two of us, my fourteen year old daughter and I ate two pounds of hamburger for dinner last night. I can't even begin to count the french fries.

My half of the ground beef wasn't all that unusual, at least not to me. Others might consider a five foot three (and a half) inch woman devouring a full pound of hamburgers to be a bit beastly, but those are people who've never dined with me. My delicate little flower of a daughter, though, who up until yesterday had never made it more than halfway through a burger (fast food ones don't count), had my jaw dropping. I couldn't figure out where the massive hunks of beef -- complete with buns -- would fit in her taut belly. Needless to say, I was as proud as your average Neanderthal peacock.

We had both expended a lot of energy in the afternoon. I had endured a tennis match, as usual fighting to stay alive -- both in terms of breath and points -- playing singles against someone at least ten years younger than I. My daughter has started badminton season, and came home, as she has for almost two weeks, from two hours of practice and conditioning after school ready to devour anything that isn't nailed down. It's awesome!

As we sat last night enjoying a meal worthy of truck drivers, I imagined, with a smile, how this might evolve. Before you know it, the two of us will be spending our evenings with a beer in one hand (non-alcoholic for her, of course) and a side of beef on the plate before us on the coffee table as we sit with our legs splayed apart on the couch and channel surf. I imagined us cutting into our steak with a big blade not normally found in kitchens, chomping open-mouthed as we gulp down our brew to help speed up the break down of food molecules. We will then tuck our sweats under our distended bellies and belch and fart to our hearts' content.

Who needs men? It seems to me we are doing just fine creating a male presence in the house when the urge arises. And these quasi-men are like other people's babies -- great fun until they start getting loud and obnoxious, at which point you can return them to their rightful owners (or just banish them, somehow). Talk about having your cake and eating it too.

Unfortunately, I still have to clean up all the pans and dishes the asshole guy left in the sink last night.