Teenage Eating Machine

Prompts = Family, Predication, Famished

Photo by Ernest Brillo on Unsplash

Tommy, my erstwhile teenage eating machine, had repeated growth spurts, apparently fuelled by continual raids on the kitchen. I sat him down to explain how it was inappropriate to eat at all hours.

“But I’m famished!”, he declared in his defence.

“That’s as may be, but we as a family require daily sustenance and meal planning is predicated upon the reasonable assumption that the necessary ingredients are available when required.”

“Yeah? But I’m hungry!”

Sadly, that was the most productive part of the conversation.

A solution was reached, however, when a separate pantry was created for his use.

Problem solved.

Space, Crock, Famished

Myles raised his hands in frustration. “We don’t have enough crocks of shit!”

Jane glared. “Well at least I’m not constipated!”

The last two passengers on a wayward space liner, they were trying to survive. While Jane’s inventory revealed food stocks that would carry them for six months, they had to make that food stretch for two years.

Constantly famished, they planted potato and other root vegetables on the main deck, using their own waste as fertilizer. But, as Myles just noticed, the makeshift farm was perhaps too big.

They didn’t dare ask if fluorescent lights would grow plants.