Every other Saturday we have pizza for dinner. Sometimes more often, but pretty much every two weeks. The logistics of why this is are not relevant to the story.
A few slices were left over and I individually wrapped two of them up in aluminium foil for August to take to school. He’s the only one of the school kids who will eat cold pizza for lunch.
Monday morning I’m packing lunches and both pieces are gone. They were there when Laura and I went to bed Sunday night.
Kyle.
Unless somebody broke into our house just to eat two slices of pizza, it would be Kyle who ate them at some point.
August is angry, goes downstairs and pounds on Kyle’s door. Waking Kyle, August yells “You ate my lunch!” and slams Kyle’s door shut. I make August a sandwich, finish packing lunches and we head off to school.
Later that morning Kyle stumbles upstairs. “What was going on with August?”
“You ate the pizza that was for his lunch.”
“There are some other slices still in the fridge.”
“Yes,” I reply, “but the ones I had set aside for him were sized to actually fit in his lunch box as well as being individually wrapped. Those were specifically set aside for August’s lunch because the other slices won’t fit in his lunch box.”
“Oh. I didn’t know.”
This is the kicker…
“You would have if you participated in the family morte rather than just showing up for meals.”
He had no response.
When people ask how things are going with Kyle living back at home, this is going to be my “go to” story. He may be 21, but he’s still in many ways 15.