I rummaged through the fridge before getting ready for work, and found a small bag of celery sticks. While I am still unsure how celery counts as food, I figured if I didn’t eat them, nobody would and they’d just get thrown out. My wife hates the stuff, and The Narrator would rather chew off his own foot than eat it. So I grabbed the bag and started in. As I left the kitchen, I ran into two-year-old Mini-Me.
“You want celery?”
I give him a bite. He chews it for a second and seems to like it. He asks for more, so I give him own stick.
A moment later, he toddles up to me as I sit on the couch.
“Daddy? Yuck. Ceh-yee yuck.”
I take the stick from him and finish it off. He cries.
“I ate your celery?”
“I thought you were done?”
“Noooo Daddy. Ceh-yee.”
“Okay, fine. Here’s another one.”
I move to the bedroom to start pulling my kit together for work. He again toddles up to me with a half-eaten celery stick in his hand.
“Daddy. I uh-want ceh-yee.”
“Are you sure?”
“You’re sure you’re all done this time?”
He starts to bawl as soon as I take it, and runs out to my wife.
“Daddy took my ceh-yee!”
I plunked the stick down on the desk and went to take a shower, trying to figure out exactly what the nature of this game is that I appear to be losing against a two-year-old.