You gonna eat that?

FBI.  It's been in the news quite a bit lately.  "Really?  Where have I been?"  Sure, those letters conjure up images of federal investigations for some.  "But not you, right?"  For me, FBI takes on a whole different meaning.  "Funny Bunny Inn?  Fender Bender Insurance?"  No, more like Fabulous Burrito Intake.  "Now that one's ridiculous."  As images of delectable burritos dance around in my head, my memory takes me back to when I was a young schoolboy.  "As opposed to an old schoolboy..."  Those times were bittersweet for me...  "Did you attend a one-room schoolhouse, grades 1-12?"  Back then, my mama would make me homemade burritos for lunch, then wrap them in aluminum foil to assure a nice, warm meal.  "How sweet of her -- ya sell the burritos for profit to go buy baseball cards?!"  No, something much worse: I'd swap them for other kids' lunches -- mere cold meat sandwiches.  "What?!"  I had no regard for my mama's time and effort... "And you consider yourself a connoisseur of good food?  A favorite son placed on a pedestal by his dutiful mother?!"  Sorry.  "Traitor!"  I know, I know, that was so inconsiderate of me.  To think that my mom slaved away in the kitchen at the crack of dawn, adding her loving touch to my presumed noontime meals.  And if memory serves me right, she hassled with chickens and hogs as part of her daily routine.  "Wait a minute, perhaps you're having flashbacks of Farm Animals Gone Wild."  No, I'm positive we had chickens and pigs -- or was it avocados?   "You're no country boy! -- you're from the city!"  It's all coming back to me: as I rolled out of bed every morning, my beloved mother was out back chasing down pesky animals in her pursuit of fresh eggs and bacon.  "¡Aquí, gallina!  ¡Aquí!"  If my mother ever finds out what I did with her burritos, she'll be heartbroken.  "And well she should be!"  It's a deep, dark secret that I vow to keep away from her.  I mean, I don't want my mama to dwell in disappointment in these her golden years... "You ungrateful scoundrel!"  Looking back, while my dad was at work, my mom's the one that took me everywhere without complaint -- on the public bus.  "Oh no..."  Oh, yes... My mother never learned to drive, so she relied on public transportation to take me everywhere: swimming lessons -- "Not the high dive!  Not the high dive!" -- downtown L.A., and  visits to the doctor that seemed hours away.  "Did he make you cough?"  My mother was a saint to ride those public buses... "To say nothing of her raising you..."  I'll never forget those bus rides in the dogs days of summer, when I was surrounded by armpits high above me...  "Hold on to a pole, folks.  It's gonna be a bumpy ride."  And if that wasn't bad enough, I had to help with the stroller, too.  "At what age did you start walking?"  It wasn't for me -- the stroller was for my baby sister!  "Sure, blame it on the siblings..."  Now, one benefit of pushing around a stroller for miles on end was that it helped build up my chest muscles... To this day, I can flex my pecs with the best of  them...  "I wanna see!  I wanna see!"  Okay, but just one time... "Wow!  You are good for something! -- you're not as useless as you look!"