Paint Chips

On many occasions in my life, I've been on the receiving end of this question: "Did you eat paint chips as a kid?"

I think it's because I think differently than some and inquire about what others ignore. I'd liken my thought process to a Peter Griffin television tangent.

So, here are my paint chips: the pointless ponderings and useless observations that keep me counting sheep at night.

Thanks for checking in.
— Anthony Trimpe

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Sun Dec 7

Gravy

I loved coming home for Thanksgiving dinner, like a squirrel stocking up for a long winter of cafeteria food. After three months of Ramen noodles, I couldn’t wait for the Turkey dinner. Good to get home. Good to get home-cooked meals. I’d imagine this was the last supper before I’d be sent back to the slammer – one filled with an incessant line of students, hairnets and predictable menu items. Yesterday’s meatloaf, meet tomorrow’s lasagna.

I stuffed my trunk and pockets with Tupperware Turkey, aluminum wrapped pumpkin pie, and countless baggies of leftovers. And as I backed out one year, readying myself for the next few months of Sloppy Joes and wondering how I’ll make the 60-mile trek with a food coma, I notice this squirrel. He’s stuffing his trunk and pockets with leftover nuts. So I say to myself, “Self, what separates us from the animals? Have we really evolved that much? Are we any better than the simple mind of the rodent squirrel!?”

Then the front door slams, and my mom yells, “You forgot the gravy, sweetie!” I laugh a sinister laugh to myself, one of those half “Mwuahaha’s” and relax knowing that the Homo sapiens, are in fact, still ahead in the race. Still on top of the food chain. Because I’m pretty sure there’s one thing the squirrels won’t be enjoying this winter: Gravy.

Gravy. It’s what separates us from them.

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