French Fry Tears

“Can we have more french fries?” my 7-year-old twins asked after devouring their first plate at dinner.

“There are a few left in the kitchen,” I nodded. “You can share them.”

The girls excitedly left the table, plates in hand. Moments later, sobs erupted from the kitchen and P emerged, shoulders slumped, head hung, big tears running down her cheeks. “You said there were more!” she wailed, her face crumpling as a new wave of sobs took over.

My eyes swung around to my hubby, who moments before had gone into the kitchen. “Did you eat the rest of the french fries?” I asked accusingly, pretty sure I knew the answer. It wasn’t the first time the last of something had disappeared into his stomach without him having asked if anyone else wanted more.

“I was hungry!” he admitted, holding back a laugh. “Do you want me to make more?”

Slowly P walked back into the room, dejectedly dropped her plate onto the table, and then melted to the floor, crying over the french fries that her father had eaten. She sat under the table crying while her father and I exchanged raised-eyebrow looks overhead, trying not to laugh at P’s outrageous reaction.

“P, Daddy said he can make some more. It will take 20 minutes. Do you want more french fries?”

“Yes,” she sniffled, crawling out from under the table.

“Yes, please?” I reminded her.

“Yes, please,” she said, wiping her face on her arm and pushing wet curls off of her cheeks.

Her twin, who had been watching her sister the whole time, suddenly sprang to life. “Me, too! I want more, too!” she called out.

Twenty minutes and twenty-thousand “How much longer?”s later, two happy girls were chowing down on their french fries, no more french fry tears in sight.

Moral of the story: don’t get in the way of a seven-year-old and her french fries!