Monkey Boy has created his very own signature dessert.
This basically entails pulling all the strawberries out of the bag of frozen mixed berries, or using fresh strawberries if we happen to have any, topping them with a generous sprinkling of grated cheese and microwaving them, then sitting beside me on the couch and eating the concoction.
[insert gagging type noises here]
The thought is wavering between ‘meh’ and ‘blergh’, but the smell … oh, the smell is vomit inducing.
We went for a walk this morning, and he mentioned this delectable delight. I said “Euwww”, because I am so awesome at coming up with profound and thought-provoking things to say.
I conclude with “It’s revolting!”
“How come,” he says, looking up at me (because he still has to look up at me, for now), “how come you can say that, but when we say we don’t like something you tell us we have to at least try it first before we can say it’s disgusting.”
“Ummmmmm,” I replied, thoughtfully.
“Because you always say that,” he continues. “You tell us off if we hate something when we haven’t even tasted it, so how come you’re allowed to say it?”
“Ermmmmm,” is my clearly adequate reply to this observation.
“So, I really don’t think you can tell me it’s disgusting if you haven’t tried it,” he tells me.
“Shut up, that’s why!”
And that is the end of that conversation.
Or, it would have been, except he kept asking me “how come” … and he’s right.