Dear Sir or Madam,
Y and I had a troubling conversation a few months ago.
We were on a walk around our neighborhood with Ike. Somehow, the conversation turned to Y’s parents’ expectation that he got As in high school “or else.” (note: they deny this allegation.)
“I hope you don’t plan to do that with our kid,” I said.
“Oh I definitely will,” he said. He was kidding.
OR SO I THOUGHT.
A few weeks later we flew to New York for a wedding. We took a cab from JFK to Grand Central Station to catch a train to the suburbs. Our short stop at Grand Central was our 15 minutes in New York City, and I needed something to commemorate the experience: PIZZA. Grand Central has the best pizza in New York, right? (that was a joke.)
I ordered my slice from a counter in the food court–I can’t remember what type, only that it was dripping with grease–folded it in half and raised it to my mouth.
But before I could take a bite, I made a terrible mistake
I noticed the pizza place’s health score. And I pointed it out to Y.
Not even a B+. Just a B.
“You can’t eat that!” said Y. “What if something happens to the baby?”
I mean, it was sweet. But COME ON.
I settled for an “A” cookie instead. Both of us ignored the fact that if we were truly concerned about your health, we could have opted for like, a salad, maybe?
I worry for you, Sir or Madam.
If “B” pizza isn’t good enough for Y to feel confident about your future, well, all I can say is I sure as hell hope you do well in school.
Mama loves you,
I ate ALL the food at the wedding. Hope it got an A+.