“Look at the size of this one!” I exclaimed, holding aloft the fist sized red berry. The kids were duly impressed. Then they went back to whatever the hell it was they were doing before – like not playing in the medium sized pool I’d just inflated with air from my own lungs (because I couldn’t find the pump). I turned back to my harvest, collecting a decent crop of red, ripe strawberries to be doled out over cereal and ice cream in the coming days.
The next morning, the Madness noticed the giant strawberry, that sweet behemoth, was gone.
“HEY! Who ate the big one!?” she demanded.
“I did,” I said – perhaps smugly.
The look she gave me – the look of betrayal and shock and…just utter disbelief at the gross unfairness of this cruel world – I was nearly crushed beneath the weight of her disapproval.
“That’s not fair!” she stomped. “Why did you get it?”
My eyes narrowed of their own accord – a reflex. “Because I planted the strawberries and I watered the strawberries and I fertilized the strawberries and I told the strawberries bedtime stories and then I picked the strawberries. All while you frolicked in the pool I filled with air from my own lungs. You’re welcome.”
We stared each other down for a minute.
“Fine,” she agreed, “but the next big one is MINE.”
Fat chance, sugarplum.