Innergiggler's Blog

Ninth grade was brutal.  The 1950s found newly teenaged girls forced into occupational slavery – one semester of cooking and one semester of dress-making.  We’ll get to dressmaking later.

Cooking class revealed my rebellious side as I got caught committing heinous acts with my spatula – flipping Shelly Horowitz’ pancakes, lipstick and her tampons.  My actions resulted in two weeks of detention and the revocation of my spatula.

Maybe because cooking felt unnatural – you see my casseroles of over-cooked veggies…carrots, peas, string beans – appeared to be suffering from both impotence and co-dependence.  But it was Meat Loaf Friday at JHS 216 that had an everlasting effect on my life.

As we were kneading our individual loaves, the teacher passed by my prep area, chuckled, pointed to my creation and sarcastically asked if I’d ever been to Diamond Head.  I knew it wasn’t a compliment.  So maybe when she instructed us to take our loaves home, I felt a lack of pride in my project, so I just stuffed “it” inside my shoulder bag and ran to catch the school bus.  I couldn’t miss American Bandstand, Jerry Lee Lewis was the guest…”Great Balls of Fire…”  da da da da da da da,,,goodness gracious!

By Sunday afternoon a pervasive stench permeated our home.  Dad was undecided as to whether to call the exterminator or the coroner… and continued to play Sherlock Holmes.  Alas, I was in my room practicing being cool when I heard him bellowing my name from down in the den.  Why me?  With great trepidation I tip-toed down the long stairwell.  Standing next to the TV, holding my protruding olive green shoulder bag, was my pissed off dad.  I was not punished…but meat loaf in any form was never allowed in our home again.