Me: “Oh my word! How big of a bite did you take? You can’t even close your mouth.”
Danger Monkey, age 10: (incomprehensible noises)
Wonderful Wife: “That’s unacceptable.”
DM: (spits out much food)
Me: “Dude, that’s way too much. That’s like four bites.”
WW: “That’s eight bites. I think I’m going to be sick.”
Me: “Dude. Gross.”
DM: “What can I say? I have chipmunk ancestry.”
Me: …
Me: “I’m not a genealogist, but as your parents, you’d think we would have already known that.”
Me: “Everyone needs to eat a few of these sweet red pepper slices.”
Little Miss Thing, age 6: “No way! I hate spicy peppers!”
Me: “These aren’t spicy. They’re sweet and you will like them.”
LMT: “You can’t make me eat them.”
Me: “Actually, I can.”
LMT: “No. I wont.” (pouting)
Me: “Just eat… three slices.”
LMT: “Nooooooo… ” (whining)
Me: “Just one slice.”
LMT : “I hate them!” (much whining)
Me: “Two bites.”
LMT: “No no no no no no no no…”
Me: “One bite. Final offer.”
LMT: (weak baby voice) “o… k… if I have to…” (takes a tiny, tiny bite.)
LMT: “Hey, these are good.” (immediately snarfs two pepper slices)
Little Miss Thing, age 6: “Daddy, bring me a plate.”
Me: “I think you need to find a better way to ask than that.”
LMT: “Plates don’t have legs – it isn’t going to walk out here by itself!”
Me: “Try again.”
LMT: “Please bring me a plate?”
Me: “There you go.”
Very Vocal Viking 