When I was growing up, we only ate out on special occasions. I don't mean just sit down restaurant eating....I mean even fast food!
In fact, I always chose McDonald's for my birthday dinner. My sisters would get mad and have teased me into adulthood. It wasn't until the past few years that I guessed where their disappointment was rooted:
- a chance to eat out, and I chose McDonalds-
I didn't even eat burgers when I was young.
A 4 piece chicken nugget happy meal is how I wasted my birthday dinner choice.
Oh, but the toys were so worth it!
Growing up, Sunday's were not my particularly favorite day. I grew up in a Baptist church that featured lengthy altar calls. For a gal that had an intense focus on eating, this was complete torture. Especially since all my friends ate out every Sunday and my mom's answer to "where are we gonna eat?", was always "Trish's Kitchen.." That answer sparked the Margaret Alice Anger Fire everytime.
Not sure why I kept asking-
If the clock hit 12:30pm and the preacher was still chanting his summoning for sinners to come to the front, I would silently start my prayerful pleading chant:
"Someone PLEASE get saved so I can EAT!"
If we rounded the minutes past 12:30, I would start planning my 43rd salvation to hopefully satisfy the preacher so he would release us.
Once the guilt of nobody turning to Jesus was thrown from the pulpit, I raced to the car and then waited, with my father, for my mother to talk to everyone in our giant 500,000 member church.
Needless to say, this hangry girl was not known for her pleasant Sunday afternoon attitude.
In fact it just got worse! Because I hate meatloaf, which was most of the Sunday lunch menus.
My mom would come home, take her dress shoes off and put on houseshoe with her dress and hose, then begin cooking lunch.
The house shoes made her look funny and I always felt "itchy" at the sight of her Sunday afternoon fashion.
Today, I came home from church, and knowing that I would wear the same thing tonight for the Sunday evening Christmas concert, I slipped off my heels, put on my house shoes and started to cook lunch.
Max rounded the corner and blurted out,
"Does Santa know you aren't at the North Pole?"
Hangry MAZ shot a grumpy puzzled look...
"You look like an elf in the red tights and those.....socks"