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Living the Life of Holly
By Holly Winter
Hungry Again

“I’m hungry.” Cool-guy said.

“Again? You sure? Honey. It’s only four o’clock. We had lunch at two.”

He laughed. “I get hungry every two hours.”

“That’s going to be a problem.”

“I’m like a little infant.”

“Yeah. Well. Infants drink from milk bottles. Will that work for you? Cause. We’re not going to be able to find anything to eat. It’s only four o’clock.”

He laughed. “Of course we can get food. We’re in a resort, for God’s sake. Of course there’s food.”

Um. No. I picked up the phone and called the front desk.

“IS THERE ANY PLACE IN THE BARCELO WHERE WE CAN GET A SNACK?”

“NO. SORRY. OUR RESTAURANTS OPEN AT SIX. MAYBE YOU CAN GO TO TOWN AND FIND SOME TAPPAS BY FIVE THIRTY OR SO.”

“THANKS SO MUCH.” I said, hanging up.

“Nothing here. Tappas in town by five thirty.”

“Holly. Are you kidding? I can’t wait an hour and a half. I hungry NOW.”

“Well. Let’s go into town. Maybe you can find a snack.”

“Restaurants will be opening for dinner soon.” He announced.

“Keep wishing. Not in Spain. Here people don’t eat dinner till eleven.”

“WHAT? Eleven? I’ll die. We have to leave Spain, immediately.”

I laughed. “Well. We can find food at nine thirty for dinner, maybe a bit earlier, but they’ll still be setting up.”

“I’m famished.” He stared out at the ocean. “All those fish out there and I can’t eat one?”

I laughed. “Do you want to go fishing?”

“How about a grocery store?”

“Nope. They’re closed till six. This’s a way small city we’re in. They’re still on siesta.”

“I can’t believe they withhold food from their people. I thought you said they were nice in Spain.”

I laughed and handed over a banana, a plum and a protein bar that I had been stashing for such emergencies. “Here in Spain people eat on schedule. Why do you think they’re all so skinny?”

We started a slow beach walk towards town. There were photos to take. Rocks to collect. And ice-cream stands to consider.

“I bet dessert will make you smile.”

“Coconut sorbet.” He smiled and ordered a large.

We wandered down the cobblestone pedestrian streets. There were clothing shops. A carousel. An outdoor market. Lots of shoe stores. Many restaurants not yet willing to consider customers.

I pulled Cool-guy into a dried ham shop. “You’ll like this.” I said. “This’s a rare delicacy here.”

He walked in and started looking around the hundreds of pieces of hanging ham.

“Look. It’s a dried pig’s leg. See the hoof?”

“OhmyGod.” He said, reaching for the camera. “But now I’m even hungrier.”

“At this shop you’d have to buy a whole leg.”

“I could eat it.”

“You’re vegetarian.”

“I’m hungry. A man’s got to eat.”

“It costs over a hundred dollars.”

“That’s more than caviar… that’s crazy. You purposely took me here, knowing that I couldn’t afford to snack on it, didn’t you? That’s mean.”

I laughed. “Restaurants sell it in tiny slivers. It’s like really dry salami. Maybe you should wait and try it off a menu.”

At nine thirty we found a restaurant. A fried fish place. Cool-guy went into the kitchen so he could point out his wish list.

He was escorted back to the table by a stomping, frowning waitress.

“Honey. Why’d you upset the waitress? Um. She’s your food source.”

“I just pointed out what I wanted for dinner.”

I turned to her.

She took a deep breath, ever ready to tattle. “HE HAS ORDERED TOO MUCH FOOD FOR DINNER. NOBODY CAN EAT THAT MUCH. HE’S ORDERED FOUR DIFFERENT DISHES. THERE ARE ONLY TWO OF YOU.”

I turned to Cool-guy. “Only four? You didn’t order for me?”

He held his hands up in defeat. “She wouldn’t give me a chance.”

I was getting used to this. I laughed. “WE WILL BE ORDERING A LOT OF FOOD. WE WILL TAKE THE EXTRA BACK TO THE HOTEL FOR OUR CHILDREN.”

The waitress relaxed. “OH. YOU HAVE CHILDREN?”

“WE WILL BRING THEM OUR LEFTOVERS.” I lied. I turned to Cool-guy. “I told her that we would give the excess to our children.”

“What leftovers? I’ve only ordered four entrees. This’s only my appetizer restaurant. I think I want to try that grill down the street for dinner.”

“I know. But. Let’s not upset them too much, ok? They think all Americans are fighting obesity. They don’t know that there are freaks like you who are riddled with fast metabolisms. Now. Please make nice with the waitress, and order me a nice little salad, ok?”

“Sure.” He said, kissing me lightly. “Thanks for fighting for my rations.” He followed the waitress back to the kitchen while doing a little victory dance.

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