Note: I found this post from September. I apparently forgot to publish it ’cause I’m cool like that. Better late than never!
All I have to say is it’s a good thing we’re not raising Margaret in Texas because it’s becoming very apparent that she’d do nothing but bring us shame at every meal.
The kid almost never eats meat.
Once, when Vin took her to the grocery store and let her pick out a special treat, she chose a yellow pepper.
She’s spent the last week eating only grapes and carrots and a strawberry that she grew all by herself. (And by “grew” I mean that we found the potted strawberry plant in the backyard, gave it to the child, and told her to observe. We’re practically farmers!)
I don’t know what we’re doing wrong.
Unlike her older and wiser cousin, Mark, who could order his own filet at the age of three, Mags has no respect for red meat. And to top it all off, she’s got a butcher for a father. Irony at it’s finest.
What’s a red-blooded Texan parent to do? At least we can take solace in the fact that the kid does love bacon.