The Great French Toast Experiment

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t the best idea. 10 year old me, already on the verge of being unmanageable, sent to board with a woman and her two young daughters. But my mother, needing some place to park me 24*7*365 while she worked her two jobs was mainly interested in safety and cost. So there I was with a glamorous divorcee and the two girls, 13 and 16. At 10 years old, this seemed like a strangely satisfying situation, though I had no idea why. This arrangement definitely had a shelf-life. And while it may not have been the best idea, here I am at 68 years old, no worse for wear.

One thing the two girls and I had in common; we were abandoned by our fathers, and our mothers were getting it done however they could. My caregiver was working full time while the oldest kept an eye on me during gap times. Did the girls resent my presence? They may well have, but they were team mom, and they were going to do whatever their mother needed to keep their little broken home functioning. Had there been any overt resentment, I would remember it to this day. Little kids have a special place that we store slights for easy retrieval later. Fuck us over. We don’t forget.

So, the girls treated me fairly and I don’t recall being a lot of trouble. I tried not to be. Hanging out with two pretty, older girls was far better than my last situation. My prior caregiver could only be described as a grouchy troll with another boarder that was her sycophantic bootlicking pet. I wanted to punch his face in. (See what I mean about not forgetting?) I liked the neighborhood better too. I quickly made friends with plenty of boys my age, and we engaged in a number of adventures, money-making schemes and unlikely projects. The odds of me having a run in with NYPD dropped considerably.

Our two princesses regarded me as a specimen to be studied. Suddenly there was this boy (ewww) thrust into this all female household. One thing that turned out to be of particular scientific interest to them was the amount of food I could consume. This is what led, perhaps inevitably, to the Great French Toast Experiment.

The experiment was a multi-contributor collaboration between two eminently qualified scholars (the girls) and involved a subject clear of any subjective biases (me). The only thing that interested me was getting the French Toast. Had it involved pushing a lever with my paw I would have gladly complied. Their controls group were legion and consisted of all of their girlfriends.

Their hypotheses was that they (the girls serving as chefs) could outlast a boy (me). The expected outcome was that though boys were basically human garbage disposals, a pair of committed teenage girls could overrun my consumption capacity. This would go a long way to proving the superiority of girls in general and that a good girl cook could easily vanquish a boy.

The whole thing had mythic overtones. It harkened back to other female plots like the Sirens and Odysseus, Samson and Delilah, and Scheherazade and the 1001 Nights. Had I fallen asleep after eating followed by them performing some sort of sorcery we would have had a cracking good tale.

The French Toast was prepared by the 16 year old under the watchful and decidedly judgy eyes of the 13 year old. There is no better supervisory arrangement than a 13 year old girl watching for a mistake on the part of her 16 year old sister.

The girls started out with a standard two slice serving which I inhaled in an instant. There followed three more rounds of two slices each before they switched over to single slice servings. Undoubtedly, they expected me to tap out at any moment. Somewhere around slice 10 things started to get real. It was time for me to dig deep. The girls became steely-eyed. I hunkered down, and undeterred by their older girl allure, I resolved to throw them a defeat they would never forget.

The game went on, slice by slice, the girls groaning with every piece I devoured. We got to 12, 13, 14 and then somewhere around the 15th slice the game was up. I am not sure who called the truce, but whether it was a lack of ingredients or concern for my well being, the girls called it quits.

I have it on good authority from one of those old neighborhood type Facebook groups that the two girls grew up to be very successful and very kind women. Thus I feel compelled to let chivalry prevail and call the whole thing a draw. Still, we all learned valuable lessons.

For the girls they must have learned that if you are trying to overcome the general gluttony of young boys you’d better bring a second loaf of bread.

As for me? I learned that if you set out to impress a couple of pretty faces by gorging yourself, you’d better be prepared to deal with the subsequent bellyache.

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