"i stashed the bill in my shirt" (m)

Sound familiar?  Those words are from Harry Chapin's famous song, Taxi.  I was enthralled with that song  when I was in high school.  If you know the story, the taxi driver picks up a woman and realizes she's someone he used to date.  She became a successful actress and he became a druggie and a cab driver.  She gives him a generous tip.  He "stashes" it in his shirt.  Well, what would you do?

Anyway, came home from Delaware late Thursday evening and drove to New York for Sam's first hockey game of the season.  Ate according to plan all day, even packed a bottle of water and a couple of apples for the four-hour car ride.  The game didn't start until 7 p.m. and ran until about 9:30 p.m.  The coach was hosting a reception at a restaurant afterwards.  My husband and I assumed dinner would be served and we made it through the game without being too famished.

Sam played well and looked great.  It was wonderful seeing him.  He turned 20 years old this week and seemed to grow up even more since just a few weeks ago.  He's a man now and I had to fight back tears when he came out of the locker room, freshly showered and wearing a suit and tie.  Where did the time go?

My husband and I talked to him and then found out the reception was for parents only.  I came all this way to see my son and now I had to spend time with strangers.  Great. 

Got to the Italian restaurant. It's about 10 p.m. at this point and I'm dizzy with hunger.  My knee is angry from going up and down stadium steps all week at the skating competition and from sitting in a car for four hours.  I popped 800 mg of Advil (4 tablets) and realized I needed to eat something.

I looked around.  A large pan of ziti and 5 boxes of pizza.  That's it.  That's what was served at the parents' reception. 

I threw some ziti on my plate and stuffed them in my mouth.  Well, what would you do?