I Am Trying To Tell Myself Candy Is Dinner At One A.M,

I finally went downstairs to eat dinner. Now, grocery shopping needs to be done but my mom doesn't like doing it and neither does her friend who we live with. I am old enough to drive but don't have a license or a permit. The friends daughter is to young to drive and the only other person is my cat Tizzy. Enough said.

So if the adults don't want to shop, shopping isn't done. Not to say the fridge and cupboards were bare but I didn't want to cook and I wasn't in the mood for any of the easy stuff we had like Green Beans, Spinach, Double Noodle Chicken Soup, Special K cereal, or Oatmeal. I considered making a PB&J on my mom's friends bread but it's whole grain and has stuff on the crust. I hate bread with stuff on the crust. Also, it wasn't my bread but mainly the crust thing.

I looked in the fridge. I looked in the cupboards. I looked in the freezer, and then in the fridge again. Basically that thing you do where you wander around the kitchen aimlessly opening things and closing things until you've lowered your standards enough to eat what you weren't in the mood for. For one wild moment I almost considered eating a bowl of jam and peanut butter *shudder*. My standards were not that low. I eventually opened the bag of fun sized Babe Ruth candies from my Mom's 1920's themed Bunco party and ate two.

This was my dinner minus one. Not my proudest moment. I am still hungry and feel bad eating candy for dinner even though kid me is cheering on. It's not nearly as fulfilling as I thought it would be. Okay, okay i'll eat real dinner. Spinach.