This week, I'll have a five-part series on my weekend events.
My weekend involved calling 911 to report a fire, frantically running away like a little girl, and a few other weirdly memorable events.
The first story I'm going to tell you involves a conversation I had about steak and poop.
Yesterday afternoon, I watched my 2-year-old nieces for a couple of hours. I made a big supper, which they basically ignored.
Along with their meal, I cooked myself one last steak that I had in the fridge. I made some potatoes, and I sat down to eat my delicious meal.
One of my nieces came up to me, and looked at my plate. She pointed to my steak, which was brown.
"Poop."
Okay, little girl, do you honestly think I'm eating poop?
I told her it was steak. I asked her to say the word 'steak.'
"Poop."
No, goober. Steak.
"Poop."
After a conversation about poop, I put the rest of my steak in a container and put it back in the fridge.
Somehow, my appetite disappeared in the middle of that conversation. I'll finish my steak tonight, when I don't have to talk about poop to a toddler.
:)
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