Empty, But Full

She slammed the empty gallon jug onto the counter, grabbed another and another lining them up along the counter and wailed, “They drank everything!”  Turning around, she pulled open the refrigerator door peering into the once crammed shelves that were now spacious and nearly empty,  “They ate everything too,” she stated flatly between clenched teeth.  There was a pot on the stovetop, the macaroni edging up the stainless interior, as though to escape its’ ultimate fate, but she refused it, unaware of how long it had been out.  Not refrigerated.

Teen-aged boys can wipe out  ­­­­­­all provisions, like slugs defoliating a garden of its lush nourishment overnight.   All evening, in shifts boys would heavily pad down the stairs and instinctively open the fridge, bend at the waist and stare, rummage through jars, squeeze bottles, until makings for something would balance on the crook of both arms.   Lettuce tightly bound in a sphere (preferred by teen-age boys and “teen-age” husband knowing it offers no nutritional value), tomatoes, bologna (also preferred, but bad for you) a jar of Miracle Whip and white bread puffed with air.  Colossal sandwiches for large appetites, washed down by gallons of orange juice, milk, apple cider and the rest of my half and half for morning coffee.  Then the chips, macaroni and cheese, crackers, cheddar all prepared for adolescent consumption and now in various degrees of gone. 

Sure it feeds the ire of a hungry thirsty, little sister, but it relieves a mother and father to have a house full on a Saturday night.  We have to go to the store and buy $75.00 worth of groceries to last us the next few days.  So what!