I never heard of a person being called a ‘meataholic’ before or a group called ‘Meataholics Anonymous’ but the situation I have been placed into by my pescatarian offspring has turned me into one. I just may become the founding mother of a previously nonexistent organization. There must be other parents out there who have found their food choices rejected, scorned or otherwise ignored by their children. I now confess to an addiction to meat borne of deprivation I have inflicted upon myself! And why do I say my addiction is self-inflicted? Because during the week I am too busy running my kids to activities and juggling all of the worthy causes that I cannot say ‘no’ to that I opt for one meal on the table each evening to make my life in one small way, ‘simpler’. That one meal, as a Mom of this millennium who has pescatarian offspring, must be sans meat otherwise I must make an additional main course to satisfy my cravings. So what happens when I am not eating with my children? That’s where the addiction comes into play, and play I do, especially when I’m driving back to the house after a shopping run, not having had time to eat lunch, and I spy the Golden Arches (and since I do not live in the San Francisco Bay Area I am no talking about the Golden Gate Bridge!) When I see the shiny red plastic sign with raised yellow ‘Drive Thru’ beckon to me I make a sharp right and follow the yellow lines to my ‘connection’, the speaker into which I request, ‘one Hamburger Happy Meal please, an orange drink and a toy for a boy’ and then proceed to the next window, my ‘dealer’ whom I pay and then proceed to the next window where the ‘drop’ is made and extra ketchup is requested. I then park at the far end of the lot to apply the ketchup and virtually inhale the hamburger which might as well be truffles on artisan toast points judging from how ‘Happy’ this aptly named ‘Meal’ makes me. You may ask, ‘why only a regular hamburger, why not a Big Mac or a Whopper from Burger King?” My reply is, “I confess that sometimes I do succumb to either of those decadences but 9 times out of 10 it’s a Happy Meal because it’s something I can conceal. The calories are less than a sandwich and I can stay the same size without arrousing suspicion.” As for the toys for a boy, I leave them in the backseat of my car for my son to find on our way to the bus stop where he pockets them and carries them away to middle school, where they are probably shared, defaced, and ultimately destroyed, never to be seen again. And this is just what happens at lunch!