Singleton + Writer + Book Lover + Moviegoer = Screen Spinster

Welcome to the loneliest blog on the web. I have no words of wisdom to espouse. (why does espouse sound so much like spouse? Is that word trying to rub it into my spinster brain?) Anyway, I don't own a cat. Never will. I don't cook, nor do I sew or knit, but I do spin a yarn (tale) from time to time. I have no domestic talents, I am not a domestic engineer/goddess, nor do I want to be. I'll sometimes post my views on scripts, (mine & yours or theirs) movies, television shows and maybe theatre, along with my own musings usually in the style of a poem. So pull up a rocking chair, sit back as your cherry pie bakes and stay a while if you like.

Monday, August 16, 2010

Where the BITTERNESS originated

At the dinner table. As a child I ate dinner at the table and wasn't allowed to leave my chair until I ate everything because as everyone knew back in the day, "there are starving children in Ethiopia", which meant I had to clear my plate even if I was full. What my father failed to realize was that the plate he served me had as much food on it as his did. How could an 8 year old skinny girl eat as much as a man in his 40's? We clearly had different stomachs and tastes.

So there I was, sitting across from my brother, picking at the bean stew or poking the brussels sprouts and waiting until my father left the table where upon my brother and I could slowly clear our plates by chucking food out the window, or in my brother's case by stuffing it in between the fold of the chair, which would eventually be discovered by my mother. He was much more barbaric than I was.

Being forced to eat liver or plum dumpling or boiled meat made me the bitter woman I am today.


  1. I had to eat these cucumbers that floated in vinegar with parsley. My grandmother somehow thought they were a delicacy.

    I feel for you.

  2. amen, sister! my Dad was the exact same way! even as a kid, i knew it wasn't fair that i wasn't the one who had filled my plate, but somehow i was responsible for emptying it, even long after everyone else had left the table. my Dad would be in his lazyboy smoking and reading the paper, my sister would be off playing, my Mom would be doing the dishes and prodding me to eat up, and the stove timer would be set because if i didn't finish my plate before it went off, i'd be in REAL trouble. wtf!?!
    i also used to get in trouble for drinking too much when i ate supper, so i learned not to drink anything with my meals. to this day, i won't drink anything while i eat (it actually makes me nauseous to do so), and at the end of the meal, i can finally take a big swig of whatever i'm having.
    one last anecdote: do you remember dying hard-boiled eggs and decorating them for easter? i hated hard-boiled eggs, but i really wanted to join in on the fun of decorating one. so my Mom boiled up an egg for me with all of the rest of the kids, and we decorated our eggs. one by one, the other kids peeled off the shells and ate their eggs. i didn't. my Mom put it in the fridge where it sat for a week, two weeks, who really knows? one day (after being away for work for weeks), my Dad opened the fridge and wanted to know the story with the egg (why my Mom didn't just toss it after a couple of days is beyond me). the truth came out that it was mine and that i refused to eat it- didn't i get sat down immediately, and FORCED to eat the thing (it was so old the dye from the shell had bled through and coloured the egg flesh). great memories! btw, i still HATE boiled eggs, and it took me almost 15 years before i would eat any sort of egg...
    thanks again, girl! i think i'll go suck my thumb for a while...



  3. I hate hard boiled eggs! the thought of them just makes me gag. And I am a sometimes on eggs in other forms. I didn't know you were so food traumatized like me!! Kindred spirits!! LOL