I'll make this one quick. We baked bread again today. This time it was black/blue/raspberry bread and I threw in some oatmeal for, well, I don't really know why. It's probably my mother's voice, "Eat white bread, the sooner you're dead" mantra echoing in my ear. Diet Coke for a pre-teen? Sure. Just no white bread.
Anyway, that's another post for another day.
VeeGee and I baked bread today and before we mixed all the berries in, I told her that she needed to try one ittttty bittttty (we're talking minuscule, people) piece of raspberry. Well, you'd have thought I was asking her to cut her arm off. Or eat poop, or something. We went round and round for about five minutes and she finally -- sort of -- "ate" the mashed up little piece that had, by that point, melted on my finger into a rather macabre-looking lump of fruit.
So, we move on. Bake the bread. Burn the arm (mine) with the closing of the door on the arm bit (I'm in agony). It's delicious, if a bit dry and not too sweet.
Fast forward. We didn't get to go to her playdate with her "BEST FWEND IN DE WHOLE WIDE WOYALD," because I feel icky, so she decided to color her friend a lovely T-Rex. And then she decided that the picture should be put in an envelope, and sealed with sticky tape (I think that's what Dora calls Scotch tape). I explained to her that, no, all you have to do is lick the envelope (you know, like George's Susan) to seal it. So she did. Vigorously. With no shuddering. Over and over. To such an extent that there is no way that the lovely flavor of adhesive escaped her sensitive little palate. But does she object to that, likely toxic, taste? No. No, she doesn't.
But lick a raspberry? No way.
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