Dolores, Are You Going to Eat That Meatball?

Or: Elinor! You eat too fast!
My sister had a friend, Dolores, who went to high school with her. In the summer evenings, they’d meet and walk together. I would sometimes follow, to my sister’s irritation.
One night Dolores was invited to supper. My Dad had ordered spaghetti and meatballs for a treat. A lady in Branchville would make them. She never put the spaghetti in the pot till she heard his truck drive onto her driveway. My Dad worked for Connery’s general Store and drove their truck to deliver orders and so drove it home every night.
I ate my supper rather fast–spaghetti and meatballs were a favorite of mine, and I noticed that Dolores had an uneaten meatball on her plate. I watched it. Still she didn’t eat it.
Finally, “Dolores, are you going to eat that meatball?”
“Yes,” she said.
My mother,I’m sure, reprimanded me and no doubt also my sister.
But at least I knew I was never going to get it.


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