It occurred to me that as I was writing the previous post that perhaps one of the reasons I have food issues may stem from all those days where I was sent to my room without supper. Plus, we weren’t allowed to eat whenever we were hungry. The fridge was off limits between meals no matter how hungry we were. At least I think that rule applied to us both.
It was very strange for me when we moved in with my biological father and his new wife. We were allowed to access the fridge whenever we wanted. We were practiced in always asking first which drove my new stepmother mad, both literally and figuratively, I think. That and the fact that we didn’t get the whole concept of letting her know when we’d finished off the last of something. Possibly because we were waiting for the axe to fall for eating all of “whatever” it was that was no longer.
Thinking about food, I can’t begin to describe how much I hated meat. As a little girl I could eat the vegetables and potatoes in our traditional English style supper, but the meat just wouldn’t go down. I would chew and chew and chew and eventually chew all the goodness out of the piece in my mouth. The piece would be so dry it was impossible to swallow, so it’d just get pushed around with my tongue, until I either excused myself to go to the washroom and spit it out or used a tissue to dispose of it surreptitiously. My foster mom would have freaked out if she knew I was doing this. Spitting out perfectly good food, some poor child in Africa, etc.
I would stuff the tissues with the dried out meat behind the buffet in the formal dining room. I imagine that was quite the surprise when they moved to their U.S. based retirement home. Imagine the look on their faces…what the hell!?!?!?
Makes me laugh out loud at this rather pitifully small payback.
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