The Strawberry Eating Monster

We went out to dinner on Friday evening.  Everyone was in a good mood – which was nice.  I was totally shocked when the kids ordered chicken fingers.  Not.  When we go out, they only ever eat chicken fingers, mac and cheese and, on the rare occasion when they get a little crazy, grilled cheese.  I will say, however, they both generally order fruit with dinner as opposed to french fries – especially the boy.  He’s a fruit freak.

So My Honey and I were sitting at the table Googling what actually qualifies something as a fruit or a vegetable.  It turns out it’s ridiculously complicated and gave me a headache.  Do not leave me a comment about fruit vs vegetables – it turns out I don’t care that much.

Our waitress walked by and The Bandit yelled to her, “Hey woman, I need more strawberries.”

It didn’t matter that the waitress laughed, I was embarrassed.  “He’s fine,” I told her while I shushed him.

“I’m not fine,” he insisted, “I’m a strawberry lover.”

“I’ll get him some more,” she said, still laughing.

“No, really, he’s fine.” I repeated.  My Honey was trying to stifle laughter.

“I AM NOT FINE.” And he didn’t look fine either.  He looked like he better get some strawberries and get them now.

“It’s no big deal.  I’ll bring him some more.”

The waitress did indeed bring him a plate of strawberries and he ate every last one of them. 

Let’s hope this doesn’t become a habit.  Pretty soon he won’t be a cute five year old maniac, and he won’t like his strawberries so much when the kitchen staff spits on them.