CHICAGO DIBS

Before I could make a move the guy came lunging toward me. He tackled me into the kitchen. I stood up and tried to make a run for it. Aunt Milly was yelling from the other room. The man was still on the floor. He grabbed the cuff of my pants and I lost my balance. On my way down I grabbed desperately for something to catch my balance. My hand landed on the pork roast that was cooling on the counter. It provided no support and came crashing to the ground with me. Covered in pork juices and feeling ashamed, I sat on the floor while the old man and Aunt Milly lectured me about the Chicago tradition of dibs.