The Napkin on the Beans...A Story of My Childhood

There are 3 things you have to understand:

1.  I am not a picky eater.  I was a good child.  I ate my vegetables.  I ate my meat.  I ate my starch.  Most children at my delicate age took one look at the mass of spinach on their plate and turned up their noses, as if to say "Mother!  How darest thou place such wretched filth upon mine plate?" But not I.  True, I did not like onions, cucumbers, peppers, and a few other measly items, but for the most part I ate what was put in front of me.

2. Casey.  Casey was the delightful blonde boy next door.  Like me, he was quite grown up (nearly 4 years old) and he was handsome and charming as could be.  He and I had many adventures together that we spoke of in hushed tones: leaping off the Unopolis's porch, rolling in the dead grass in my father's trailer, and meeting Barney (yes, the purple dinosaur himself), just to name a few.  I longed for the next opportunity to frolic in the backyard with him, and whenever that next opportunity came, I seized it.

3. Rachel.  My older sister.  Rachel was already a teenager, so she was practically a million years old.  She was older, wiser, cooler, and nicer than practically anyone else in the world.  But she also had an iron fist, and could dominate us younger siblings with said fist.

Now that you understand these 3 things, I can proceed with the story.

It was a lovely summer evening...or spring...possibly autumn...it didn't really matter as long as I could romp in the yard.  Rachel had been given the arduous task of looking after me.  I used all of my 4-year old wiles to make her see me as the perfect little sister I was to ensure I could do as I wished later in the evening. Such wiles included: making adorable comments, letting her play with my luscious blond hair, smiling a lot, and eating all of my dinner.  My plan was going perfectly...until I looked out the window.

There was Casey...playing in the back yard.  He laugh, he giggled, he smiled.  He was calling me from the prison of the kitchen to the great outdoors.  I was practically done with my dinner...I only really had my lima beans left...but who has time for lima beans?

"Raaaaaaaayyyyyyyy?" I batted my blonde eyelashes.  "Can I pleeeeeeaaaaaasssssseeeee go outside and play with Casey?"

The iron fist came down. "You have to finish your lima beans first."

My soul was crushed.  FINISH MY LIMA BEANS!  I had, like, 17 whole lima beans on my plate!  Who knew if Casey would still be in the backyard 17 lima beans later?  I hung my head in shame and disappointment.  "Okay." I mumbled.

I stabbed one lima bean with my fork...a little violent, I know, but the lima bean deserved it.  My little hand guided the fork to my mouth. The bean squished between my teeth.  In a rolling motion I ground the lima bean to bits and shoved it down my throat with my tongue.

I had to take a rest.  That took forever.  16 more lima beans to go?  Casey was on the swings now.  I wanted to be on the swings.

Then, the miracle came. Rachel suddenly excused herself from the table.  As she meandered down the hallway, away from the kitchen, a little light sparked in my brain.  An idea!  A plan!  Rachel would have no idea what hit her.  Glancing from one side to the other, making sure no one was near to witness my genius, I picked up my napkin.  With the precision of a surgeon, I placed the napkin on top of the lima beans.

Perfect!  She would never know!  There was absolutely nothing suspicious about the delicately placed napkin on my plate.  Before Rachel got back I slid out of my chair, threw open the back door, and bounded down the steps.

Casey greeted me and immediately we began to play.  During the first few minutes of our revels, my stomach clenched uneasily.  Would I be found out?  Would she suspect?  Would I be called back in to finish the villainous lima beans?

I paused a moment to look in the window.  Rachel stood by my plate.  I gulped and braced myself for the iron fist.  But she didn't look up at me, she didn't even frown. Instead it looked like she was...laughing.  Laughing?  Laughing at what?  She must have been fooled, and in seeing how wonderful her little sister was for finishing her lima beans, she couldn't contain her joy!  Oh Rachel!  Your poor, weak, grown-up mind, falling prey to my ingenious 4-year-old trap.  I smiled and turned back to the swings.

My parents came home, and still no mention of the lima beans.  Success.

Casey and I played into the evening...and all was right in the neighborhood.