Tag Archives: salad days

Brat

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Brat: (n) a child, typically a badly behaved one

A brat is a child who has lazy parents.

There may be physiological or psychological reasons which cause a young person to be socially unacceptable, but those are rare.Dictionary B

A brat is just a child who has found out how far his parents will go before they surrender.

First of all you have to understand parenting. It is the narrow isthmus of thought existing between the mindset of Mother Theresa and the Marquis de Sade.

For if you’re too generous, your children will hug you–but then strangle you with their aberrant behavior.

If you’re too mean, they will end up in therapy, describing your atrocities to a roomful of astonished therapists.

It is truly a Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde scenario–where sometimes you must play the bad guy to actually be the good guy.

For a necessary “no” that slip-slides away into a greasy “yes” is what causes little ones to believe the world was created for their whim.

It is time for all good parents to be willing to be considered temporarily insane by their grumbling offspring so that these children can emerge from their “salad days” to be something better than our politicians.

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Balsamic Vinegar

Balsamic vinegar: (n) dark, sweet Italian vinegar that has been matured in wooden barrels.Dictionary B

I guess it was around age 35 when I stopped trying to be enticed and instead, allowed myself to be convinced.

Up to that point, everything needed to have a sensuality, an obvious value or a pleasure related to it in order to grab my interest.

To put it bluntly, a stick had to come along a poke my lust–whether a lust for food, romance, power or even work–to get me revved up and ready to go.

Yes, I needed to be enticed.

So in that time–those “salad days”–when I ordered a salad, I always got a mix of Thousand Island and Blue Cheese dressing. Why?

  • Because I loved the taste.
  • I loved the rich, thick texture.
  • And I think, secretly, I was enthralled by the number of calories.

But then when I reached 35, I started thinking about my mortality. Death is highly unlikely when you’re a kid. But death lurks in your late thirties, and even though it’s not prominent, it is still evident.

It was at that point that I realized my choice of salad dressings was contrary to my good health. So I investigated other choices.

The one suggested to me more often than any other was balsamic vinegar. “Low in calories, good for your tummy and a promoter of excellent digestion.”

When I tasted it, I wanted to run out of the room. It was not creamy. It was not delicious. It was intrusive. Yes, that’s the word.

But since I was trying to move out of a climate of enticement, I allowed myself to be convinced that this dressing was to my betterment.

To this day, when I go to a restaurant and they don’t have lower calorie options, I will order it–not because it’s enticing, but because I finally am convinced.

 

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