Erma Bombeck Writing Competition - Winners
2003
Erma Bombeck Writing Competition
3rd Place - Humor Category
Mary Lombardo
Albuquerque, New Mexico
"The Meatballs and Me"
| I stared at them and they stared right back -- twelve plump meatballs, crunchy brown outside, soft and cheesy in, full of nostril curling garlic, frothy eggs, spicy breadcrumbs, tangy parmesan cheese --and one used band-aid. Which one held the treasure? The last time I had noticed the band-aid, wrapped around my thumb to soothe a misdirected hammer blow, was just before I dove wrist deep into raw hamburger. Not until after the squishing and the rounding and the baking did I realize something was missing. "Who swallowed my band-aid?' I demanded. The brown little balls feigned innocence and gave no response. It was almost time for my guests and I was in deep shitake sauce. A moral dilemma presented itself. Should I be honest? If someone told yu that there might be a band-aid, a used band-aid, in your food, how would you feel? Naw, I decided. My meatballs wouldn't talk and neither would I. Dinner was on. Four of sat at the oval table, goblets brimful of ruby hued Chianti, plates heaped high with long strands of spaghetti buried in thick red sauce, slabs of buttery garlic bread -- and the meatballs. The evening went well. I don't think I hurt Tina too badly when I pounded her back after she coughed, and Joan only spit up a little bit when I noticed her hand on her throat and started the Heinlich Maneiver. How was I to know her neck was itchy? Conversation went smoothly too. When asked what I thought about a certain movie, I said I'd give it three band-aids, and when I saw that the bread basket was empty, I asked if anyone wanted more band-aids. No one noticed my lapses, I don't think. When we finished the Chianti, the spaghetti, and every one of the meatballs without serious mishap, I felt as limp as a wine-soaked dishrag. No one had suddenly pulled a band-aid out of her mouth like Houdini performing his magic. No one had dropped dead on my kitchen floor, air cut off by the stray bandage. No one had yelled, ""Aargh! What's this?"" at the sight of a band-aid on their plate. It was a great evening. And what of the band-aid? The question of its whereabouts joins the army of life's other unanswered mysteries: What is the meaning of life? Are there really aliens in Roswell? Will I ever meet Sean Connery? How could I have been so stupid as to make meatballs wearing a band-aid? |