When we last “spoke” my brother and I were being sent to our rooms for eating vegetables. “Eat your vegetables…eat your vegetables…eat your vegetables…” was and has been the adult mantra to youngsters seated around dining room tables or TV trays since adults, kids, and vegetables were invented.

I guess the emphasis is on “your vegetables”, once they are on “your” plate ownership of them has been transferred to you and you are now allowed (forced) to eat them or no dessert…no cartoons…no whatever it is that you hold near and dear to your wee little heart.

Adults in their odd adult world with their arbitrary adult rules making life difficult and more confusing than necessary for the slightly deranged and mildly confused little ones they’ve found themselves responsible for. So it goes.

So yes, those particular vegetables were not ours, they were not on our plate, nor did they grow in the soil of any of our kindly kin. In the adult world that would technically fall under the realm of theft. I shudder to think of what they do to vegetable thieves in the hoosegow.

When our mother, a lovely woman that did not deserve the degenerates bestowed upon her, told us through clenched teeth, “Go to your room and think about what you’ve done, and don’t come down for NOTHING” we listened…for once. Well, we sort of listened…as usual.

We went to our room, we didn’t come down for NOTHING, but very little pondering of repent or anything resembling thinking passed through our mop heads.

Mom came up to our room to check on the progress of our regretful thinking an hour or so after her order of not leaving our room for NOTHING. Might have been an hour, maybe two? Could have been 5-minutes? Kids have a warped concept of time and most anything else that exists in that before mentioned “odd adult world” that we never asked to be a part of.

Mom got to the door of our room and began to say something along the lines of, “I hope you two have…” but she abruptly stopped mid-sentence and stood with a confused and disgusted look on her face.

“What’s that smell?”, she said. Jarvis, sitting by the open window trying to catch a breath or two of fresh air, helpfully pointed to the Star Wars garbage can next to the desk that was placed in our room by lovingly delusional adults that hoped we might use it for homework and other such nonsense.

“You said we couldn’t leave our rooms for NOTHING”, I stated, glancing up from my Sergeant Rock comic book. All those vegetables, the excitement…pressing matters presented themselves, and I did not shirk orders given by my mother through clenched teeth.

“You could have left your room for that” she said with the bewildered look of someone that is wondering what she has done to deserve such things in life. All this fine print in the adult world. What’s a kid to do?

In a defeated, and sort of sad tone, she simply said, “clean it up” and turned to leave. I’m sure grabbing a six-pack of Tab and walking as far as a six-pack of Tab would take her crossed her mind.

Later when dad got home from work, we heard mom explaining the entirety of the day’s events to him. All the grisly details. We didn’t get in trouble. I think they felt that having to go through life as we were would be punishment enough.

Now you know “the rest of the story”. Pass the carrots.