I didn't mean to do it. Honest. I had no intention of passing on my phobia to my children. In fact I tried hard to hide my distaste so that it would not affect them. It seems all my valiant (*a-hem*) efforts were in vain.
Today, The Cruise Director had a special request when I was making his peanut butter and jelly sandwich for lunch.
"MoooOOOOoooooM! Please, please, PLEASE! I can't stand the heels of the loaf of bread. They kinda scare me. All flimsy and stuff. Please, don't ever make my sandwiches out of the heels again. They are so gross! It's like eating cardboard or straw or something. Please, give my sister the heels."
And he went on and on that way for a good three or twelve more minutes. With moans and arms swinging wildly about his head. He ended his appeal with his face in his eight year old hands. He was in emotional agony. His entreaty left him drained. I know just how he feels. I couldn't fault him for his emphatic request.
The Affectionate One can hand over her crown. There is a new Drama King in town.
And I have no idea in this whole great wide world where he could have possibly have gotten THAT from.