The Insatiable Appetite of Suburbia
“Frank.” cried Debbie. “Frank! Oh, Frank!”
“What is it dear?”
“We are out of mayo. We are out of f*cking mayo! How am I going to make sixty deviled eggs if we are out of mayo?”
Without turning away from episode three of Ice Road Truckers, Frank replied, “Can’t you just use sour cream?”
“Oh my god. That’s like saying you can use non-organic egg whites for a cream brûlée. Why are you so godd*mn dumb?” Debbie took a deep breath, laid on the ground, and formed into the downward dog position—a familiar routine her yoga instructor Cam led her in every Sunday. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.
“Deb, what did I tell you about doing yoga in the kitchen?”
“Well I’m sorry. I’m sorry someone forgot to pick up mayo from the supermarket; I’m sorry you’re not slaving around in the kitchen; I’m f*cking sorry that you aren’t showing up to the kick-off PTA meeting with only fifty-f*cking-three deviled eggs for sixty f*cking people.”
“I forgive you.”
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Debbie sat in the driver seat of her white Honda Odyssey. The fifty-three peppered deviled eggs laid in the passenger seat next to her.
“You can do this, Deb. You can do this.”
She took a deep breath, said a little prayer, and pulled out the on-the-go chardonnay from her purse for a little empowerment.
“I can f*cking do this.”
______________________________________________________________________________
“Welcome to the first PTA meeting of the school year. I am Mrs. Klein, but you can call me Jenny.”
“Thank you,” replied Debbie, “I’m actually new to the neighborhood, so this is my first PTA meeting.” She giggled with embarrassment. “I was just wondering where I should place these?” Her eyes darted toward the tray of deviled eggs in her hands.
“Oh, those look delicious. You can put them with the other whor’e d’erves in the corner. But if you don’t mind…” Mrs. Klein took one of the mustered eggs and sunk her bleach-white teeth into its freshly garnished filling.
“Oh my God,” she said, with some paprika on her upper lip, “these are heavenly.”
A smile ran across Debbie’s face. She carried her now fifty-two eggs to the small appetizer table with an overwhelming sense of pride and achievement. She did it.
The meeting started in nearly fifteen minutes, so she decided it was time to converse with the other moms. She was looking forward to this night for the longest time. Recipes, playdates, The Bachelorette—there was so much to talk about. Now the question was, who would be the first person she greeted? This exact moment was what had been keeping her up at night for the past week. Her She needed to make a good impression on the other moms in order to be invited to their Lady Nights. She scouted the small kindergarten classroom, looking for an acceptable mom to talk to. Perhaps the tall, woman in the back? No, it looked as if her husband did her make-up. How about the petite, blonde woman chatting in the front? No, the pearls around her neck were clearly fake. What about the—
“Hello. My name is Suzanne.”
Debbie turned in the direction of the abrasive voice. She was about to greet Suzanne with a polite hello, but then noticed what she was holding: a tray of deviled eggs—at least sixty—topped with olives. Olives. F*cking olives.
“Hi. Those look delicious,” said Debbie.
“Mmm. Definitely not as delicious as yours.” Suzanne’s eyes shot to Debbie’s ornate platter as she forced a gag. “Haha, allergies.”
Debbie smiled, blushed goodbye, and scurried off to the bathroom. She didn’t want anyone to see her cry at her first PTA meeting.
______________________________________________________________________________
“The meeting will start in ten minutes!” Jenny Klein’s hollow voice echoed throughout the elementary bathroom. Debbie was frantically reapplying her mascara—thank God she brought her make-up bag. Her years in high school as head cheerleader prepped her for a moment just like this.
A young, scrawny mom in yoga pants and hot pink tank-top—definitely not appropriate for a PTA meeting—was washing her hands next to Debbie. “Oh. My. God. You’re skin has, like, no wrinkles at all. Do you use botox or, like, take some of those collagen-inducing pills? My girlfriends and I use them and they work great—well, kind of. Everyone showed results, except for me, haha. My name is Christie. And you are?”
Flush. Debbie’s attention was directed toward the back stall where a tall, brunette woman began to walk out. She was wearing crimson, skin-tight leather pants and an ivory white blouse. From her ears dangled four-inch ruby earrings, crested with small emeralds and golden bands. Her black, six-inch heels echoed throughout the restroom.
Clack. Clack. Clack.
With each step she took, Debbie’s heart fluttered. She was unsure whether it was from fear, or intimidation, or even admiration. However, all she was sure was that she was about to meet her new best friend.
The mystery woman stopped right before Debbie, and stared Christie in they eyes. “Scram.” D*mn, she was cool.
“That was Christie,” the woman continued. “I’d advise you not to speak to her. Those pockets of hers haven’t been full since her husband left, if you know what I mean. Anyway, you must be new around here. I think I’d remember a rack like yours.”
Debbie looked over her shoulder, “Oh, that’s not my towel rack. I’m pretty sure it’s the school’s, but it does hold those towels nicely.”
Tammy stared blankly. “Of course.”
“Anyhoo, my name’s Debbie. Nice to meet you—
“Tammy.”
“Tammy. Of course.” Debbie put away her mascara and redirected her overly bubbly personality towards Tammy. “How many kids do you have?”
“One, but she lives with her father, my first husband. I’m divorced—twice. I guess you can say I’m allergic to men.” Tammy took a step closer.
“Oh stop that. You’re a gorgeous, beautiful woman. You just have bad taste in husbands, that’s all. I’m sure you’ll find a nice, suitable man somewhere. As for me, I have three kids.”
“Three?” Tammy yelled.
“Yes, I know. Three. Isn’t that awesome? Popped my first one out when I was only nineteen.” Debbie stood there, glowing with pride.
“Well, that sure is something. I’m not sure about awesome—”
“Beautiful?”
“Sure. Beautiful. Anyway, I’m only invited to events such as this because of my donations. I’m typically the lead patron in whatever charity the school sponsors, so they feel obligated to extend me an invitation. That being so, I was wondering if you would you like to sit with me during the meeting? I wouldn’t mind introducing you to my friends.” Tammy extended her hand.
Money, beauty, and a complimentary personality? What more could Debbie ask for? This night was turning into a big success. “Of course. I’d be honored.”
______________________________________________________________________________
“Alright moms and dad—hey Dave. Welcome to first PTA meeting of the school year. I greeted most of you as you walked in this evening, but in case you didn’t catch my name I’m Jenny Klein, but your kids know me as Mrs. K. It is so great to see such an amazing turnout. On the agenda today we will discuss which charity we will sponsor and some fundraising ideas. I am so excited to hear all your great ideas. And remember gals—and Dave—”
Everyone in unison chanted with zest, “every idea is a good idea!”
“Also, don’t forget ladies and Da—you know what, Dave, you’re just going to be a girl for tonight—there are some delicious appetizers and desserts in the corner. I personally recommend the deviled eggs, but that’s just me. I’m a sucker for olives.”
______________________________________________________________________________
“So it’s settled. Waving Away World Hunger will be our sponsored charity. We’re going to take a quick ten-minute break.” Jenny Klein stepped down from the podium and began to pitch her new product as an Independent Sales Consultant.
Debbie sat around, discussing with all her new girlfriends the best party favor they had ever received.
“No, I’m serious. It was a wine bottle filled with little edible penises. It was for my cousin’s first bachelorette party,” she said.
Jackie, one of Tammy’s friends, replied, “Deb, you’re great. You should come hang out with us this weekend.” All the mom’s nodded their heads in agreement. “It’d be such a pleasure to get to know you better.”
“Yeah we all have a getaway weekend once a month at Tam’s,” chimed in Karen, “we’d love to have someone as beautiful and funny as you there. It’s a great way to escape from the hubbies.”
“Well of course you guys. You all have shown me nothing but hospitality. I’d love to come.” Debbie smiled as all the moms began to cheer.
“Hey ladies, should we let Debbie in on our little secret?” Tammy asked.
Murmurs of agreement came from the surrounding women.
“Okay,” continues Tammy, “well, this meeting is a very special meeting.”
Debbie felt a little confused, but suspense began to eat away at her patience. Tammy continued,
“You know how we fought very hard to get Waving Away World Hunger as our sponsored charity during the meeting?”
“Yeah,” said Debbie.
“Well, we planned that. You see, us moms here have the perfect idea that will cut out the issue of world hunger as a whole. Jenny’s in on it too.”
A look of disappointment and confusion was plastered on Debbie’s face. “That’s the big surprise? Well, that’s great and all for the little African babies,” she said, “but why is that exciting?”
“Because,” said Jackie, “we get to use all the money we would have raised for a nice wine Soiree instead.”
Debbie’s eyes bursted open as she imagined herself sitting around, socializing with her new best friends at a lovely wine Soiree. Oh, look how perfect this evening has gone. “This is amazing. I love Sworees. But, how are we going to get rid of the world hunger?”
“Oh, you’ll see my darling,” Tammy said, lightly tapping Debbie’s nose. “Trust in me.”
______________________________________________________________________________ Jenny made her way back to the podium. “Alright ladies. Now that we declared the charity we will be fundraising for, any ideas?”
Immediately, several hands shot up in the air, including Tammy’s. Jenny pointed to the front row, “Sharon.”
“Hi everyone.” a small, spunky red-head popped up out of the crowd, “I’m Sharon, and I was thinking we could have a bake sale.”
“But we did that last year,” interrupted a random soccer mom.
“And? Who doesn’t like baked goods, and even more so, who doesn’t like baking. There could be cookies, cakes, scones. The options are limitless. We could even make it a—”
“That’s enough, Sharon. Thank you.” Jenny wrote “Bake Sale” on the whiteboard behind her, and continued, “Any more ideas? Dave.”
“Yeah, uh, I was thinking we could get in contact with the Waving Away World Hunger charity and they could send us a list of children who are struggling to be nourished. We could set up a system where you could sponsor a child, and, um, are given a photo of them. If people see a photo of someone they are raising money for, it’s like a strong incentive to do the best work they can, you know? I just think—“
“Haha. Okay, Dave. Great Idea.” Jenny didn’t even bother to write the idea down. “Any other ideas? Tammy.”
Tammy rose from her chair and made her way to the front. Debbie sat in awe as she watched perhaps the most confident woman she knew carry everyone’s attention as if it was her firstborn child. It was clear to Debbie that every woman there idolized Tammy—they’d do anything for her.
“Now I expect all of you know who I am by now,” she said. “I’m infamous around here for my great charity work, valor ideas, and heavenly figure.” Her arms slid from her hips to her knees, straightening out any wrinkles and revealing her scarlet curves.
“Now we could stand up here for the next hour and discuss ideas such as bake sales or photo incentives—both of which are great ideas, truly—or we could discuss a more practical approach. Let me ask you, do any of you donate to charities and wonder where your money is actually going? Because I—?” Debbie’s hand shot up in the air. “This is a rhetorical question, Deb.”
“Yeah it is!” She responded, enthusiastically, keeping her hand up.
Tammy took a deep breath. “Okay. Well, this might take longer than expected so lets just cut to the point. I’ll make it very simple for you all. How many of you donate money to our sponsored charity each year?” Everyone’s hand rose.
“Okay,” said Tammy. “Good. Now how many of you typically donate to these causes just to ease your mind? It’s just one of those things that helps you sleep at night, right? No, it’s okay ladies. Be honest.” Tammy raised her hand, leading the rest of the room to do the same.
“Good. Now last question. How many of you truly believe that your money, your husband’s hard-earned money, is doing anything for the causes you donate to?” Debbie raised her hand. She felt guilty because the honest truth was, she never donated to any charity before. However, she didn’t want to be left out, or even worse, she didn’t want anyone to think she was poor. But Debbie was so lost in thought that she didn’t realize her hand was the only one in the air.
“Wrong!” Tammy looked at Debbie. “Charities do nothing but steal our money and pretend to be doing something useful with it. Our money is simply being wasted.”
Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. Debbie continued to slam the palm of her hand against her forehead as she recited her favorite mantra: I am so godd*mn stupid. Of course she knew charities didn’t help people. Why did she raise her hand?
Tammy stared into the eyes of the crowd with a crooked, mesmerizing smile. “We are all being robbed of our money, and I’m here to put a stop to it. Who is tired of being used just because they are wealthy? They say true joy comes from a selfless act, but in my own experience true joy only comes from drinking wine and spending time with my ladies, am I right?” The crowd of woman nodded in agreement,
“So what if I told you I had a solution that did both. One that prevented world hunger, and allowed us to use all the money we would have donated instead for a nice wine party?” Glees of excitement sounded throughout the classroom.
“Exactly. Now, who is tired of giving and giving and giving, when it is our turn to receive?”
“I am!” screamed a few woman. Debbie took note to do the same after the next question.
“Who is tired of spending hours at soup kitchens, or on the streets, or even at charity events just like these for absolutely nothing?” Tammy’s voice crescendoed.
“I am!” the whole crowd was responded.
“Who is tired of being drained of happiness when we are the ones who should be happy?”
“I am! I am!”
“Okay. The solution is simple. One that was practiced years ago, unplagued by the modern horror of today.”
“Tell us. Please, tell us!” a woman cried.
Tammy smiled. “Cannibalism.”
Debbie at first laughed, thinking cannabis and cannibalism were synonymous, but her laughter soon turned into fear as she began to slowly realize the difference. Her mouth gaped as she was slapped by Tammy’s inhumane proposal, but her thoughts were muffled by the clamorous grunts of agreement flooding from the crowd of suburban moms—and Dave.
“Now I know this is a fairly controversial approach,” continues Tammy, “but trust in me. We will be seen as heroes once we put this movement into action. We will be treated like kings and our names will forever be imprinted on our children's history books.”
A woman rose up from the crowd. “I have a serious concern, Tam, which I’m sure we are all thinking.” Debbie’s eyes bursted open as she saw hope for another reasonable human in the room.
The woman continued, “My son, Billy, has a severe allergy to peanuts. Could this be an issue?”
Debbie’s stomach churned.
“Great question. And to be quite Frank, I’m unsure. But not to worry. Once we begin to implement this method, that will open opportunities for extensive research on certain topics such as allergies. But that is why we need you—all of you!”
“Now, Tam,” Debbie choked up some words, “don’t you think this idea is a bit insane? I mean—”
“She’s right!” Interjected a small, blond woman. “What will this do to our weight?” Her voice quaked with fear.” I—I—I can’t afford anymore liposuction.” She broke down in tears.
“No, I mean—” but Debbie was too late.
“Well, actually cannibalism is beneficial, Pam. Dr. Sujani recommended I ate my placenta after little Russel was born—which I did of course—and I lost my preggy belly almost immediately. I’m not sure why it helps, but it has been clinically proven. I saw it on Dr. Oz.”
“Oh my god. Me too, Jane. I had my first placenta capsulated as pills, which was fine, but my second one was prepared as a soup. Best d*mn soup I’ve ever had, and I have such killer recipe ladies.” Squeals of excitement erupted.
A curious mother asked, “Do y’all think different colors would have different flavors?”
“Gertrude, that’s racist.”
“Shuddit, Barb. It’s a serious concern. I need to prepare a space in my cookbook if they do. My mouth is just waterin’ thinkin’ about the juicy, warm—”
______________________________________________________________________________
Thirty minutes went by, and the moms would not stop talking, discussing, and questioning. Debbie sat motionless in the back, burning. Her face poured with sweat as her gut thrashed around. Was she the only sane human there? Was she the—
“Ladies,” interrupted a stout, blonde female, “I don’t believe this is a plausible solution. Let’s discuss the practicality of this, starting with the legality of it.” Debbie looked at the woman a little closer and thought she looked familiar: skin-tight yoga pants, a hot pink top? Christie.
“Oh shut up, Christie,” spat Tammy. “We all know you struggle to feed your family ever since Hank left and that you wasted all of your savings on that tummy-tuck. You’re just afraid that we’d eat you.” As those words rolled off Tammy’s sweet breath, a tasty image formed in the mind of the crowd.
“You do look a little frail. You sure you’re eating enough?” said Jenny.
“I agree,” added Suzanne, smacking her lips, “and not to be rude, but those our’ derves were lacking flavor, gals.”
Suddenly, Suzanne seized Christie by the wrists as two other moms with a similar mindset grabbed her ankles. Debbie watched in horror as Christie was dragged to the front, where they laid her on Mrs. Klein’s desk, knocking over her paperweight and freshly sharpened pencils.
“What the hell are you doing? Let go of me!” Christie began to fight back, but she was just too weak. She couldn’t escape.
“Ladies what are you doing?” yelled Tammy.
“Oh, we will let her go.”
“No. Did I say let her go?” Tammy commanded the crowd with such ease. “This is a perfect way to answer many of your questions. All of you will get your turn, but come, let us use Christie as our first. Thank you, Christie.” Christie began to cry.
Tammy bent down and sniffed her strawberry-blonde hair. “Mmmm, freshly cleaned meat. Perfect for seasoning.” Her eyes danced with fire as she gazed at the helpless meal.
“Stop!” Debbie ran to the front, stepping between Tammy and Christie. “This is not okay. We are not going to injure an innocent woman in any way. Let’s all talk about this.” She directed her attention to the crowd. “We can find another way to have a wine party. Let’s just go back to fundraising for Waving Away World Hunger. Please.” She stared intently at Tammy.
Silence crept into the small kindergarten classroom as all the moms looked at Tammy, awaiting her response.
“Oh, Debbie. I was wrong.” She took a long, exaggerated breath. “I was wrong to think that you were my friend.” It was almost as if that was a planned cue, because just as those words left Tammy’s mouth Debbie was grabbed by the mass crowd of moms, and thrown to the ground.
“Get her up!” commanded Tammy. “She needs to learn how to prepare the meat.” Debbie was left with not choice, but to watch the deranged women savagely cook an innocent girl. They started by taking a nearby pair of safety scissors and removing Christie’s hair—the first step in any quality cookbook.
The moms went around, experimenting with all the spices and flavors they could find on the appetizer table, but just as they were finishing the seasoning, Jenny Klein called out, “Oh no, ladies we are out of time. It is already 8:30. Time flies doesn’t it? Well, I’ll see you all at my house this weekend for Sangria Saturday—those of you invited, of course.” Immediately, the moms released Christie, said their goodbyes with insincere kisses and hugs, and departed back home to their husband and kids. Christie remained naked on the desk, paralyzed by her own fear; Debbie stood still, making sense of the chaos that just occurred; and in the corner remained fifty-two deviled eggs.
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