The French Fries Monster
My daughter Zoe will be turning 23 months this Sunday. In a month’s time she will officially be in her terrible twos, but this early we get to peek at how “terrible” she’s becoming. For instance, no matter how late it is and how much we distract her with stories, she will still remember that she wanted a cookie. And that’s at 11 in the evening, when everybody, including the moon, is asleep. She also knows that french goes with fries. So when one of my aunts asked her if she was speaking in French during one of Zoe’s uncomprehensible monologues, Zoe replied with, “fries?”
Speaking of french fries, my daughter is fast turning into a french fries monster. It’s not surprising actually because her dad is one, so I blame it on genetics. One Saturday, I took her to Jollibee and she devoured her large serving of fries with glee. Her yaya Arlene and I just took a few of her fries, just to let you know that it was really Zoe who finished it all off. Zoe was rather disappointed to see all her fries gone in a few minutes. She held out the carton and declared she wanted more. I tried to distract her and told her that we’ll be getting a new pack of fries someplace else, across the street to be exact, but we had to drop by another store first to buy something for daddy. Well, she bought that, but not quite. The minute we parked along the other street, she reminded me about her fries, and so off we went to Tropical Hut for another set of fries, this time I got the smaller carton just to be a little less guilty of indulging my daughter to high-fat, high-cholesterol junk food. Zoe again ate all the fries, as if there was no tomorrow. I know, I know, you might think I’m spoiling her by giving in to her wants. She isn’t a spoiled brat and that’s the truth.