While in the produce section at the grocery store this past weekend, I grabbed some squash and made the mistake of thinking out loud, saying we should get some for dinner.
“No, no, no, no, no …” MP says, waving her hands in protest. “No squash!”
“You don’t have to eat it – you can eat carrots instead.”
“Mommy, what’s a carrot?”
A nearby shopper glances my way.
“What’s a carrot? You’re silly,” I chuckle a bit self-consciously, loud enough for said shopper to hear. “You know what a carrot is.”
MP grins just enough for me and no one else to see. BALLS.* She knows she has an audience.
“Mommy, what’s a carrrr-ot?” (Volume UP.) I swear she SMELLS the sweat beading under my hairline.
Three additional shoppers look disapprovingly our way. One actually sneers. SNEERS. I’m fully aware how disgusted they are to hear that a four-year-old child has never seen a carrot.
“Is THAT a carrrr-ot?” she says, pointing to a head of cauliflower.
I smile. And look for the nearest exit.
“Hey, can I have some Froola Hoops? Pleeeeeese? Grammy let me have them for dinner the other night when you were worrrrking.”
Skip ahead to dinner last night. Without ceremony, I place a side of squash in front of her, hoping to slide that one right on by with the main course. (Because we always eat seven. Courses.)
“No, no, NO! No squash! How many times have I told you?” Gesticulating dramatically.
“I don’t know. How many?”
And there it is. Expertly executed role reversal.
Impressive, but here’s the real talent. Out of nowhere, a plastic food product is produced and thrust at me.
“I COMMAND YOU to eat this sausage.”
The Amazing MP, ladies and gentlemen. Comedian. Magician. Master of Misdirection.
*BALLS. My new favorite expression. Somehow, it’s perfect in every way. And it makes me laugh. So, you’ve been warned. Expect to see BALLS flying around from here on out. (See what I mean? How funny is that image? BAHAHA! There’s that 11-year-old boy again …)