“Even under the best of circumstances, there’s just something so damn tragic about growing up.” “This is where I leave you” – by Jonathan Tropper

I think that just about everybody has a bucket list. Things to do before you die. Climb Mt Everest – see the Taj Mahal – rocket into outer space – sleep with Jennifer Lawrence. All valid objectives.

One that I would include that probably no one else would – participate in a glorious, sloppy, messy, delicious food fight. I mean like a riot. An explosion. A mass release of pent up aggression with food as the weapon.

It would begin peacefully. Family and friends at a rather large dining room table. An even dozen I’m thinking. Idle chatter and intermittent laughter. Thanksgiving. A festive mood conceals a lurking, pernicious force.

Those present have no idea that all hell is about to break loose.

At a point where everybody has been served and plates are piled high with the likes of mashed potatoes, gravy, cranberries, etc., I rise with a smirk.

Only my cousin, seated across from me, notices the furtive move. In that brief moment, her eyes open in mild alarm. She knows me too well. My obvious anticipation of the mayhem I am about to unleash betrays the real meaning behind my nonchalant body language.

As I reach for my plate, my cousin opens her mouth to raise the alarm. A gooey mass of potatoes, gravy, and butter mutes her cry as the mass impacts her between the eyes and slides slowly towards her breast.

Someone off to my left winds up like Nolan Ryan and launches a drumstick at me. I duck. It careens off of my shoulder and strikes Uncle Buck in the buttocks.

The mob begins to stir. A sense of anticipation pervades the room and a few of the more perceptive souls reach for their plates.

Suddenly, all hell breaks loose and the air is ripe with various food groups as they sluice space and hone in on their targets.

Folks, the proverbial shit has hit the fan.

Glory – Glory – Halleluiah – There is a God after all.

“At a certain age, you realize the greatest loss you can experience is a theft you perpetrate upon yourself-the waste of days given us.” From “Light of the World” by James Lee Burke