The Tasting Of One's Own Medicine

The #1 son and I are having a difference of opinion. I know. Mark your calendar.

He seems to think that it is perfectly okay to delve into The Pony's after-school snacks. He is gorging his way through a bag of Buncha Crunch and a box of Scooby Doo Fruit Snacks. His past targets have included a package of Chips Ahoy, individual bags of Cheetos, and cans of Pringles.

The Pony is disappointed to go to the file cabinet and find much of his stash depleted. He looks as downtrodden as Old Mother Hubbard's dog. But he doesn't complain. Because he's The Pony. That's his nature.

I regularly chastise #1. It goes in one ear and out the other. Sometimes, he even laughs. Repeated askings of what he wants from the store go unanswered. "I don't want anything. I just take what looks good. There's no need to buy me anything. I wouldn't eat a whole box of Scooby gummis. You'd be wasting your money."

I told him the only alternative is to stash The Pony's stash in secret locations. Whoa now! That wouldn't be FAIR, according to #1. "Nobody does that! Normal people don't hide food!"

Normal people don't take what another person is counting on being his snack because he requested it and it was bought for him and he carried it into the school and put it away.

I'm thinking of bringing the ONE item #1 asks for on a regular basis, Lay's Flaming Hot Chips, to school and sharing them all around. Surely he won't mind when he goes to eat some, and finds that they have been devoured.

Because I saw those chips, you know. And they looked good. So I took them.