Biting Off More Than I Can Chew

 

Taken from https://krmusicians.wordpress.com

Most people use the phrase “biting more than you can chew” figuratively. For me, it has always been literal habit, having been born with a cavern instead of a jaw. My dad often wondered if I were part snake and could unhinge my mandible at will. When other people had their wisdom teeth yanked, my dentist just said he hoped mine would grow in straight with all the space around them. When I was sixteen, I found that I could fit my whole fist in my mouth. (Don’t ask.) Hostess Snowballs, those pink or white coconut covered marshmallow globs of grossness, are bite-sized snacks. Neighborhood kids quit bobbing for apples when I came to the party. Nobody wanted to play Chubby Bunny with me by the time I was twelve.

I won my first pizza-eating contest in fifth grade, taking out Jason the class bully without breaking a sweat, downing two large slices in less than 20 seconds. When I was older, I food-raced against others using entire pizzas, Big Macs, steaks, ice cream sundaes--and anything else we could get our grubby hands on. Whoever finished first got to eat what was left of the other’s hoagie or bag of cookies. Three-foot subs naturally go with an entire bag of chips and two liters of Coke.

Not to completely gross you out, but the one time I remember throwing up as a kid resulted in hot dog chunks. Well, actually hot dog halves. That time I literally bit off more than I could chew. I just swallowed.

            Now, because we have finicky kids at my house, we measure things at the dinner table by bites: teeny bites, kid bites, normal bites, big bites, monster bites, and Dad bites. If you tell Dad (me) he can have a bite of your ice cream cone, you must be prepared to go hungry yourself unless you planned ahead and asked for a double scoop.

Many people learned the hard way not to give me a bite. My brother still steams over the time he left half a Wendy’s chicken club on the table. As he left the room to answer the phone, over his shoulder he said I could have a bite. I swear I only had one bite.

Unfortunately, gobbling like this has led to many unwanted pounds. People say that to control your weight, take fewer bites. There's just one problem: when I just take one more bite, it’s the equivalent of six or seven for a mere mortal. And now, if that isn't enough, I have an even bigger problem: my sons (ages 12 and 5) copy me. On more than one occasion I’ve had to rip multiple entire slices of bacon from their mouths to prevent asphyxiation by breakfast.

“But Dad ate three slices at one time!” was Zac’s defense when interrogated by his mother. I just smirked and avoided eye contact. Do not try this at home kids...or anywhere else for that matter. I’m a trained professional. Biting off more than I can chew? It's what I do...literally.

Photo by Heidi Bauer