Recently, my wonderful wife made super-awesome grilled-onion-ranch-cheeseburgers for dinner. That isn’t entirely relevant to the story, I am just bragging about how delicious this food was. What is relevant is that we were eating dinner, and Brianne was not.
Apparently she does not like cheeseburgers, a drastic change from a few nights ago when she loved cheeseburgers. She now only likes the bread, which is also a drastic change from a few nights ago when she screamed for a new patty of meat that hadn’t been sullied by the decaying touch of a bun.
Regardless of her likes, she wasn’t leaving the table without some protein in her belly. Three bites of cheeseburger were all that stood between her and freedom. Begging, pleading, and suggesting deals had all failed when a new tactic appeared. The ruling had been laid down that she wasn’t leaving until her burger had been eaten; We had failed, however, to specify that she had to do the eating.
“Daddy, do you want to try my cheeseburger? It’s soooooooo good, you’ll love it!”
“No thanks Honey, I ate mine.”
“But Daddy, you should try a bite. Just one bite. You’ll love it!”
“But it’s your burger, you should eat it.”
“No no no, Daddy, I’m sharing! You have half!”
Then she pretended to take a bite and made exaggerated ‘MMMMMM’s before holding the burger out to me again.
I’d like to think I am a better actor than that when I try to convince her and Ant to eat their food, but I doubt it.
“Here Daddy, just take one bite then you can go.”
Oh shit, she pulled a full Caribbean Double-Back Reversal! A dangerous gambit even on a good day. Thankfully, I have been in my fair share of tropical-themed pickles and knew how to handle this situation.
“Do you want to eat the bun and meat separately, Honey?”
“Oh! Yeah!” She squeaked in the amazed tone of one whose entire world has been flip-turned upside-down.
Then she devoured her dinner, in two parts, in less than a minute.