Meatballs

Tommy wants to make spaghetti and meatballs for dinner. He's in the kitchen, playing with raw ground elk meat, making little . . sculptures.

"It's squishy." he remarked, semi-enthusiastically, with the gleam of new discovery. "It's so gross. Like walking through mud with bare feet." He looked up. "Ya know how the mud squishes between your toes. . ."

I made a face. 13 yr old boys sure know how to make conversation. . .

"I've never been . . so much into . . raw meat." I felt very slightly ill. "Ickety! You're like half-way up to your elbows in  meat goo. ."

"You have no sense of fun. . ."

Tommy scrunched up his nose.

"Ew, it's soo cool. ." He grinned wickedly, awestruck. "Nice and moist. . and . . yeah!"

I shuddered, and left the room.

He continued to squish and shape. "This is great!" I heard him yell. "I'm a genius! These will be the best meatballs ever!"

Yick. Yeah, if he'd ever quit playing with the stuff. . .