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She wants macaroni.
I offer corn.
She wants a corn dog.
I offer green beans.
Cake.
Salad.
Chips.
My hair will fall out before she eats what I want her to. Her teeth will fall out if she eats what she wants to.
She laughs from her perch at the kitchen bar. I sigh. She grins and points to the pop tarts. I silently curse her daddy for bringing those home.
Grilled chicken?
Chicken tenders.
Fish?
Only if it's fried with ketchup.
She lowers her head and eyeballs me.
I put my hands on the counter and eyeball her right back.
Time to play hardball.
She wants a hamburger.
I have veggie burgers.
Ha!
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