My Mother The Murderer By Gerald Kasten

MY MOTHER THE MURDERER

By Gerald Kasten

 

When I was growing up my parents owned a very lethal  estab-

lishment whose shelves were filled with all sorts of slow  acting

poisons. They called it a grocery store.

Even today, when the wind is fluttering just right, and  the

right  fragrances  are airborne, I shut my eyes and  I  hear  the

heart-felt moaning of my murderess mother pleading with me.

“Jerry, eat all your eggs and the bread also, or no dessert!”

“Mommaaaa!  I  hate eggs. And you spread the butter  on  the

pumpernickel too thick.”

“What’s  the  matter  with  you? Don’t  you  know  that  the

children  in Europe are starving? They would love to have a  meal

like this.” There was another poignant inducement.

“If you don’t eat well you’ll  get rickets.”

Now, that really scared me. “Crickets? What’s crickets?”

“Don’t ask,” was her dire reply.

Her most important goal in life was to make her skinny kids

big and strong. And incidentally, being chubby was an added plus.

After all, if you looked well fed, you were healthy. Thus:  milk,

butter  and eggs, were the most important body-building foods  on

earth, and they were served daily. She had a very devious way  of

doing this, my scheming mother. She would try to convince us that

what  came  from  those  grocery  shelves  was  good,  wholesome,

nourishing … and free for us to snack on.

But the essential ingredients for all her schemes were  what

was in those boxes beyond the glass doors of the showcases.

Now, that was a collection of compelling poisons. Eskimo Pie

ice  cream bars with their bright silvery wrapper;  Mellow  bars;

Charlotte  Rousses (sponge cake with whipped cream swirl, and a

bright cherry on top.) Bottled milk with the long topping of sweet

cream; cream pies, cheeses of all varieties and flavors. To  this

day I’m still addicted to the narcotics of the showcase.

 

Then after years of this torture, I met Lucretia Borgia. She

operated  under  the alias of MOTHER-IN LAW. Now she was  a  real

killer.  Under  the guise of being a  loving  mother-in-law,  she

conspired with her equally devious daughter to dish out their own

brand of poison that made my mother look like an angel.

They transformed the most delightful ingredients into deadly,

exotic Hungarian concoctions. Then they placed them before me for

my approval. Ah, I lived like a potentate!

The  juicy fried chicken; the thick spicy steaks, the  hardy

soups loaded with meat, herbs and spices. Then, as if that wasn’t

enough, there were the fine delicate pastries that only an expert

with loving hands could prepare. Oh! The aroma! Oh! The beauty of

those  creamy, sugary delights! Mother-in-law dear, you  made  my

life  a  living hell trying to decide  which  poisonous  culinary

blessings I should devour.  You set my poor head reeling.

Suddenly, sorrowfully, the whirligig came to an abrupt end.

Some  cruel demon in his laboratory, decided that this decadent

practice of producing gastronomical wonders must cease!

IMMEDIATELY!  So, he devised the ominous word CHOLESTEROL! With

all the evils that it implies.

He changed my life forever. Now everyone made an about face.

We are now reduced to reading labels on everything. So far the only

food that has zero sodium,  zero fat,  zero  cholesterol,  is straw … and water.

OH  CRUEL, COLOSSAL DEPRIVATION OF IT ALL!

Now in our old age while strolling on the clean sandy beach, and bath ing in the sky blue sun dappled water our beach in Hampton Bays,we often discuss the deprivation of the taste of;

A juicy  steak the ice cream, our mothers pastry, and all the other forbidden foods,

 

BUT THANK GOODNESS WE LIVED LONG ENOUGH TO ENJOY OUR

DEPRIVATION