When certain children completely deplete the stocks of a particular pantry item, well … they just have to suck it up.
Even when they try to make a big deal out of it, being all dramatic and stuff, and alluding to some sort of conspiracy, they simply just have to wait until The Next Big Shop.
It is really rather a simple concept to grasp.
When, however, the aforementioned children, or most specifically a particular child, causes the complete depletion of a specialised chocolate stash belonging to .. say … Me … then this is a different issue entirely.
Aside from the fact that I possess the seemingly bizarre ability to eat the teensiest amounts of chocolate, and only when I feel like it, and can have copious amounts of chocolate sitting in cupboards for months on end without even thinking about it, I do like chocolate.
Only the good stuff. Not cheap, nasty crap. The good stuff.
Which is why I had the majority of a block of Lindt strawberry chocolate sitting in the pantry since Christmas. It was, indeed, a special gift from my family.
A certain teenager was ‘hungry’ and despite the plethora of actual food designed to stave off hunger and provide the sensation of satiation, he trawled through the shelves, pushing more satisfying and nutritious fare aside and consuming what remained – i.e. all but one small square – of the block.
For a child who is allegedly ‘very bright’ (assessed as ‘superior intelligence’ by someone who is qualified to do such assessment) he made a seriously dumb move.
Two, technically. The first being the assumption I wouldn’t know.
The major mistake, however, was that he tossed the packaging in the bin, without making any attempt to smother it.
Requests to venture to local shopping centre after school this week were met with refusals due to his ability to behave in an appropriate manner. Begging and pleading to go left me a bargaining chip; I’ll allow him to go only on the condition he replace what he took.
Met first with a refusal to accept responsibility, stating it was my fault because I left it unattended (I dared go to bed one night) he eventually conceded, just short of agreeing explicitly.
After a suitable amount of haranguing, I sat back to see what he’d do.
He did walk in the door, dropped his bag, said hello and approached me with a small, silver-wrapped package.
A square of hand-warmed chocolate in the flavour of that which he had deprived me of not days earlier.
“I did buy a replacement,” he tells me. “But I got hungry on the way home, so I ate it. I saved this for you though.”
Extracting something akin to bugger all reaction from me, he lasted a mere twenty minutes before wandering over to me again.
“Okay,” he says. “I did buy a real replacement.”
And he hands over the replacement pack, with a disclaimer.
“I’m replacing it exactly as I found it,” says he.
The packet open, one square missing. Exactly as he found it.
He also got the wrong flavour … but I’ll give him credit for the smartarsedness behind his efforts.
I do wonder where he gets that from …