When You Don’t Have Anything to do Except Eat
By: Bebe Nicholson
Tags: Food, Family, Humor, Storyofmylife, Satire

There’s nothing to do at Mama’s house except eat, especially on an occasion like Mother’s Day when we center our activity around the meal.

There’s also no T-Mobile service, so I can’t read emails, text, make phone calls, or get on the internet until I’m on the way home again. But that’s a different story.

Back to eating.

It starts before I get there, because going to her house is a seven-hour drive, and no drive under three hours can be undertaken without snacks.

For this trip, I packed nuts, cookies, protein bars and fruit. I didn’t eat the fruit, because you can’t peel fruit and drive at the same time. I don’t even know why I packed it, unless it was wishful thinking about eating healthy.

In addition to the snacks, I stopped for an extra large ice cream cone, which reminded me of working behind the soda fountain in my dad’s pharmacy when I was a teenager. Ignoring Dad’s protests, I scooped the kind of ice cream cones I would have wanted a teenager to scoop for me; generous to the point of ruining any potential for profit.

Customers loved it, but Dad got mad. He said, “Just give one scoop. That’s all they pay for. And don’t pack it. Leave the cone hollow.”

He would demonstrate the proper way to scoop ice cream, leaving the cone hollow and spooning out one tiny, measly mound, which had to be a huge disappointment.

Photo by Grace Mak on Unsplash

I would nod, say okay, and as soon as Dad walked off, smash ice cream all the way to the bottom of the cone and pile at least three mountainous scoops on top. Sometimes ice cream was piled so high it slid off the cone to the floor, and I would give the customer another ice cream, free of charge.

My dad probably hated that Mama made him hire me.

By the time I got to Mama’s, I had already exceeded my eating limit for the day, but she had bought Carolina barbecue, which is chopped and tangy and delicious, and it would have been ungracious not to eat with her.

She is almost 100, and when she enters a room, people act like Queen Elizabeth just arrived. So we ate barbecue, and she told me our plans for the weekend.

For Mother’s Day, Mama planned a brunch. “I’ve made chicken salad, butter beans, corn, biscuits, barbecue, slaw and pecan pie. I’m sending your brother to Kentucky Fried to pick up some chicken,” she said.

“Mama, you’ve already done enough. We don’t need fried chicken. I’m not eating any.”

“We’re having chicken,” Mama said firmly.

I ate three pieces.

My cousins, who had come from out of town to visit their mother, dropped by Mama’s house after brunch. We sat and talked for two hours, until finally one of my cousins said, “We’d better go. We’re going to the Tractor Supply Company.”

“Why are you going to the Tractor Supply Company?” That sounded more boring than watching another rerun of Judge Judy, which is Mama’s favorite show.

“There’s nothing else to do in this town,” my cousin said. “Except eat.”

She was right.

After they left, Mama asked me to plant begonias. I felt so sluggish I could hardly bend over, but I got the begonias planted and thought about taking a walk.

Thinking about it was as far as I got. There is something about sitting so long and eating so much that sucks away your incentive to exercise.

You’d think it would have the opposite effect. Being sedentary and stuffed should have been the catalyst to launch me into full marathon mode. But the air seemed heavy and humid, my legs heavy and leaden, and it was all I could do after the begonia planting to flop back on the couch and wait for dinner. Which was a delicious smorgasbord of leftovers.

The next day I went to the only clothing store in town and bought some tops. I didn’t dare try on any pants.

I’m back home now, and the lethargy I felt at Mama’s is slowly seeping away. I’ve resumed normal eating and plan on walking tomorrow. But first, I’m going to finish the fried chicken she insisted on sending back with me.