The Ronzoni Asylum

Dad called Mom once a day on the nights he came home from work.

“Hi, How’s it going?”

“Hectic. They’re driving me crazy.”

“What are we eating?”

“Surprise, #9.”

“Great, see you later.”

If you look carefully at the bag of garbage in the photo on top you see an empty box of Ronzoni pasta. It’s a square box so for a change we weren’t eating Ronzoni #9 Spaghetti. My guess, it was Rigatoni. If you opened Mom’s pantry you'd find at least ten boxes of different styles of Ronzoni pasta. Rory’s eyes and my eyes were bloodshot from eating Mom’s Marinara sauce. Dad controlled dinner and anything but Ronzoni was cause for a parade around the kitchen table.

Friday night, I’ll read a story from inside the Ronzoni asylum.

Please come down to the reading.

Friday, May 27 at Happy Ending Lounge, 302 Broome Street, between Forsyth and Eldridge Streets at 8 p.m. This is part of Mr. Beller's Neighborhood's Reading Series.