I let him have a bologna sandwich for dinner tonight. Just calm down; I’m not taking him to Biscuitville and ordering the fried bologna (which, rumor has it, is back). Still, it’s one more thing that I would have to hide in the back of the organic greens drawer of the fridge if I lived in the suburbs. I’ve been meaning to try the Tofu-logna; I have. But man, the bologna deals at the deli counter are seductive. AND there is a chance that I will get to hear someone order it using the “Buh-loan-uh” pronunciation—basically the funniest thing you could hear at the deli counter; weird, Americanized Eye-talian city talk.
Feel free to call me out on the carpet for feeding my kid such un-healthy, un-local, un-slow food. I am pretty sure that he will grow out of it (uh, unless he takes after his dad, who somehow consumes half of the bologna supply in the house). Also, I Googled “bologna related diseases” and it was less scary than Googling “my leg hurts.” My leg does hurt, and I don’t eat bologna. Besides, my kid eats bowls full of blueberries, which my research reveals acts as a veritable suit of armor against bologna-borne yucky things. He’s also skinny and has the metabolism of a hummingbird, so I figure I should get some kind of awesome parenting award for not trying to raise him on red-dyed sugar water (which in my day was known as Hawaiian Punch–complete with stereotypical Hawaiian-ish guy strolling around punching people–way too much like my classroom for me to dwell too long on that memory). The Awesome Parenting nominations are probably clogging up my inbox right now. I’m guessing.
For those of you with organic toddlers, your time will come. One day, you will be dog-tired and your now age-wizened darling will loudly present a bologna manifesto in the grocery store, at which point you will do anything to shut Mussolini up. You know what’s next. Welcome to Biscuitville.