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    Half-sour cucumbers, hold the salt

    Half-sour cucumbers, hold the salt

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REM

Stands for: Remorseless Eating Machine. I didn’t think anyone in my household was really trying for this Homerian (Simpson) title this week, because it’s so hot you just don’t wanna. But I was wrong.

This has been a Homer-fest kind of week; I found a set of the complete 5th season of “The Simpsons” going for a song at my local friends-of-the-library auxiliary. Certain young daughters of mine have been reveling in it after a long day of Shakespeare camp (where you get to try on other kids’ boots and pirate shirts, improve your diction and Elizabethan vocabulary–not too much, gotta keep it mostly clean–and learn the next, more advanced level of stage combat). I just hope my kid can keep Marge’s lines and heavy sighs out of her role in “The Comedy of Errors.”

But back to the crux of things. “Game of Thrones” may have ended (finally), and “The Simpsons” 5th season was long ago, though still dear to our hearts and much more devious than all the episodes post-25th anniversary. But clearly the skullduggery persists in our household. The quart-plus of nectarine sorbet? The one I made only two days ago, if that? Gone. Goniffed, in fact.

We each got a little of it for an afternoon snack and again at supper, weighed out in cups…and there was still almost half of the container left last night after supper…

As I made a last pass through the house on my way to bed last night, I was surprised to find the lid of the container abandoned (and dripping melted sorbet) on the table …

The only good thing I can tell you arose from this incident is that my daughter’s blood sugar didn’t spike as a result. Considering that I’d have estimated a good 80-100 grams of carb in what she polished off…she estimated 40 grams of carb; maybe she was right. I suppose it’s a vote of confidence that the low-sugar sorbet is actually relatively low in sugar and high enough in flavor (and chill factor) to appeal to a teen.

But really. I should still hate to recommend that anyone eat a pint of any sort of frozen sweet in one go. Not least because of the brain-freeze factor. Which seems a perfectly fitting and appropriate punishment to the crime (because it’s not right to wish blood sugar spikes on anyone, no matter how irked you are–brain-freeze, on the other hand, is definitely earned in this case and explains so much of teen life).

Where’s Montgomery Burns when you need him to wring his hands and say, “Smithers, release the hounds!”–Ehhh???

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