Last night, I asked the boy what he thought about his lunch. He said it was good. I asked if he ate his sandwich and he said no, just the macaroni. I asked why. The boy said, “Well, at lunch Kevin pushed Dash and Dash pushed me so my sandwich fell on the ground and then I stepped on it and then Dash stepped on it and it was all dirty so I couldn’t eat my sandwich anymore.”

I said to the boy, OK, let me get this straight: through an unfortunate series of events during lunchtime, you “accidentally” dropped your sandwich and then you and Dash stepped on it, rendering it inedible? The boy said, “Yes. That’s what happened.” I asked, Really? He said, “Yes. I don’t care if you believe me, but it’s the truth.”

I realize that the boy really doesn’t care for sandwiches, but I was impressed and dismayed by his wherewithal to concoct such an elaborate story to cover his not-eating-his-sandwich tracks. Not sure whether to be proud or terrified.

Meanwhile, I told the boy that I made chicken nuggets for lunch, and he said he didn’t want chicken nuggets, which taste like double boogers. I told him that most kids would be very happy to have homemade chicken nuggets for lunch and asked him what he wanted instead. The boy said he wanted mushrooms and rice. So I gave him mushrooms and rice, plus some chicken nuggets. We’ll see if the nuggets survive long enough to be eaten rather than trampled on the ground.

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