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Sometimes things happen that you’re not proud of. Sometimes actions that are well intended turn into…something else. I wanted to feed my son, he wanted to eat peanut butter out of the jar so we compromised and I gave him an english muffin with PB on it. *sigh* I didn’t know what it would start. What followed was a stampede of hunger that rumbled through the house hold. There were so many people, the smell of crumbs burning in the bottom of the toaster, the rush of feet on the kitchen floor complicated by the sound of silverware being dropped with a clang. It was chaos and I wasn’t prepared for it.
I can feel the sticky butter and the tough crumble of the peanuts inbetween my fingers even now. I feel to blame and the shame of it all makes me panickly try to shift that blame away from myself. My little boy wouldn’t have been hungry if mom had fed him a proper breakfast, I had walked into the house to find a half devored chocolate bunny in a cereal bowl. I tried to address the issue, but I was on my own, my sisters weren’t there to rally with me and taking on the matriarch, well, you just don’t do that on your own, it’s dangerous.
I try shifting the blame back further, perhaps to the modern day hunt at the grocery store. The metallic tang of shopping cart metal in the air, the buzz of the PA system pushing discount meat. The sale sign for english muffins. It wasn’t on the list, maybe that’s where we really went wrong. We deviated from the list. What happened at the twisted, hobbit-like 2nd breakfast wasn’t our fault at all, it’s the systems.
Thinking back on it now still makes me shutter. All that swallowing without chewing properly, the endless pile of crumbs under the kitchen table like the remains of the slaughtered were trying to hide their own horror from the world.
Maybe there was no way around it. It could have been destined and who am I to say it should have been different? Maybe it really is all my fault. All I know is that before it started the kitchen was peaceful and afterward the only thing left besides the smears of crunchy peanut butter maring the surface of the table was a tattered plastic bag, empty and abandoned after the appetites of the masses had been saited.


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