It was nearly a year ago when I whined about our daughter crushing my culinary fantasy in a story succulently titled, “Chicken Parmigiana.” Recently, I feared this would be an annual event. As the noon hour approached, I was returning from an errand, which separated me from the Styrofoam container preserving the second half of my veal Parmigiana sandwich, left-over from last night’s visit to Pedones.
Had I remembered last year’s episode, I’d have packed a cooler or hidden it in my sock drawer. Often these precautions don’t enter one’s mind until the pangs of hunger emerge. It was certain that before the clock struck 12, the Malgeri “let’s eat” gene would have driven my daughter perilously close to my delicious prize.
I considered calling in a stern threat. “IF YOU TOUCH THAT SANDWICH I’LL *$*%$*!!!!!” However, love got the best of me and while I wasn’t magnanimous enough to say, “Hey Dom! You wanna have something cool for lunch!?” I decided to let fate prevail.
“Just a few more blocks,” I thought. I was already 20 miles above the speed limit. Had the child on Avenue F not had good reflexes, I may be facing manslaughter charges. “Just another block!”
“RINNNNNNGGGGGG!!!” An iPhone tune struck fear in my body. Caller ID, while an amazing invention, only served to elevate my anxiety by reporting, “INCOMING CALL FROM…DOM MALGERI!”
“What are the chances she’s calling to say she misses me?” I thought.
“Hi Dad! Can I eat your sandwich?!” Gosh, she still sounds like my little baby doll. She’s such a sweetheart.
“Sure luv! Go ahead. Enjoy.”
“Thank you Daddy, I love you!”
“I luv you too. See you soon. Bye!”
And THAT’S the way it goes! I’m sure every one of you can relate.