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“Wait ‘til you taste Mom’s meatloaf—it is her specialty.”
That alone raised alarms. Jenny had a refined palette while Jim would eat anything, even with a shovel.
They entered Jim’s boyhood home and his mom Ella greeted them
warmly. Jenny was clinging to Jim as she met every relative known to mankind.
Every one sat down as Jim’s dad Harold lifted his glass to
toast the couple. “Here is to Jim and
Jenny. We toast you with this raspberry wine, laid down by
Great-Aunt Ethel (who giggled demurely) in 1947.”
Here! Here! And the wine was tossed back, followed by murmurs
of pleasure.
Jenny gagged as she tried to swallow, but then spit the
wine that had turned to raspberry vinegar,into her linen napkin.
She looked around at these relatives, who nodded in pleasure. Oh, no…can't they taste that?
The meatloaf, covered with serpentine gelatinous gravy, was served with a glob of
creamed peas and lime jello. Jenny’s
stomach gave one big spasm.
She gave the meal her best shot, ate a few bites, and then stirred the rest into the heap of green and brown. When asked why she hadn't eaten, Jenny took a few more bites.
The plates were removed, only to be replaced by tapioca pudding.
She gave the meal her best shot, ate a few bites, and then stirred the rest into the heap of green and brown. When asked why she hadn't eaten, Jenny took a few more bites.
The plates were removed, only to be replaced by tapioca pudding.
“This is my favorite!” Jim cried as his mother
smiled indulgently. Jenny cautiously took one bite and then she
stood up, whereupon she covered the
relatives with one big blast of projectile vomit.
And that is all there is to say.
