Me: I go to the market to buy free-range chicken and organic zucchini, and I make the world’s most tender meatballs with cream.
My son: “Yuck, mom, I’m not eating those meatballs, they stink!”
Me too: I buy the last, ugliest piece of frozen meat at a random store near the house and just stick it in the slow cooker.
My son: “Mom, this is delicious! Thank you! Can I have some more?” © Anxious cake / Bright Side
My 5-year-old brother came into the kitchen for breakfast. My mother had prepared porridge, but he grimaced and went to the refrigerator. He opened it and hid behind the door. After checking its contents for a couple of seconds, he peeked out:
— “What, no chops left?”
— “No.”
He stopped to think about the answer and went back inside. Then he asked again:
— “No sausages either?”
— “No.”
He then started to move something in the freezer. And this time with palpable sorrow in his voice, he said:
— “And the bacon?”
— “No, no bacon either.”
My brother slammed the refrigerator door shut with a bang and shouted, angry and distressed:
— “What, there aren’t even bones in this house?!” © BaronessaJac / Pikabu

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