After her drivers ed class today, my daughter assumed the “browsing position” in front of the refrigerator. She had the doors flung wide open, one handle in each hand, and she was searching. Up on tiptoes to check out what was behind the condiments on the top shelf. Bent down to look behind the bowls on the bottom shelf. I could tell this was serious business. It was lunchtime, and she was hungry.
She sighed. “Is there no tortellini left?” she questioned. Really, from where I was sitting on the opposite side of the door, it was tough to tell.
“Is it not in there?” I asked, not admitting that less than an hour earlier, I had offered it to her younger brother as a lunch option.
“I don’t see it.”
I opened the dishwasher, and the empty bowl presented itself as evidence. I closed the dishwasher. “No more tortellini,” I reported.
“And there’s no pasta salad left, either, is there?” She already knew the answer, but I could tell she was holding on to a shred of hope.
“No, there’s not,” I reluctantly reported. “We finished that for dinner last night.”
“So there’s nothing to eat!” she griped. “Why does everyone always eat all the food without me?”
Hmm… it must be a conspiracy.
Or, more likely, it’s the reality of life in a house with teenage boys.