The Fuzzy Appetite

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It all started with a text from my nephew John on Friday night.

He sent me a photo of his dinner.

At least 35 ounces of steak, medium rare, a few rows of sushi and about a half-a-bushel of zucchini.

It looked good.

Ten minutes later he sent me a photo of a mostly empty plate.

“Saved some steak and veggies for my sandwich tomorrow. I’m stuffed!”

At 5:00 in the morning on Saturday he had sent me a photo of him biting into the steak and zucchini sandwich.

“Breakfast!”

I laughed, and I thought a bit about the Fuzzy appetite.

Johnny didn’t grow up alongside me and my siblings, but he had devoured two meals much as we always did.

Cut to 12 hours later.

Just me and Sam for dinner as Kathy was visiting a friend.

“How about steak and lobster?” I asked.

Sam laughed.

“You know the answer to that question,” he said.

We both had 24-ounce steaks with a side lobster tail and asparagus.

I don’t eat like that much anymore, and was struggling before I was halfway through.

I thought of all the steaks I shared with my Dad and with my siblings.

I considered how Sam picked up the bone and ate the rest of the steak like he’s supposed to.

“Outstanding,” he said.

I had enough left for a steak and asparagus sandwich in the morning.


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