Flat Fruit

“Don’t give me this anymore,” Mom yelled from the living room.

I put down my empty coffee cup and stuck my head through the kitchen door.  “Don’t give you what?” I yelled back.

“These,” she said, waving a partially eaten granola bar at me.

“You don’t like them anymore?” I asked, walking toward her.

“No, I don’t.  It doesn’t taste too good and I don’t like it much.”

“So if you don’t want a breakfast bar, what do you want?  Would you like to have a banana again?  Or cereal?”

“No, I like my bars okay, it’s this flavor that I don’t like.”

“Okay, what flavor is it?”

“Apple.  I don’t like it and you give it to me all the time.”

“I don’t know about that since I buy an assortment box.  But, fine, I won’t give you apple.”

“Good.  I just like the fruit kind,” she added, dumping the remaining quarter of the bar into the waste basket.

“Well apple’s a fruit,” I countered.

“I know, but it’s the wrong kind.  I like the other fruits.  You know, the flat kind.”

“The flat kind?”

“Yes, you know, the other ones that aren’t round.  Apples are round.  The fruit ones are flatter.”

“Okay, I’ll be sure to just give you flat fruit, like those flat blueberry and flat strawberry bars.  No more round apple bars,” I concluded as I escaped to the kitchen.

“Good,” she replied.  “And the same goes for my yogurt.”

“Got it,” I called out.  “Flat yogurt, no round yogurt!”


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