Natalie did not want to share her frozen grapes. I was unaware of this.
“Can I have a grape,” I asked, and stuck out my hand.
She shook her head.
I kept my hand out, awaiting a frozen grape. She continued to pick them from her bowl and pop them into her mouth, looking me straight in the eye. Which was weird. She rarely looks me in the eye, except when she knows precisely that she and I have a strong difference in opinion about something she doesn't want to do. She was ready for a showdown over these grapes.
“Just one grape?” I asked.
She shook her head vigorously.
“But why not?”
“Boys don’t like frozen grapes,” she explained in a tired voice.
“That’s crazy,” I scoffed.
“It’s TRUE!” she yelled.
“Who told you this?”
“Dracula,” she said an put another grape in her mouth.
“Dracula told you,” I deadpanned. All I wanted was a single grape, a single frozen grape, and now I was about to get in an argument with my daughter over whether or not a fictional monster knows more about boys than I do.
I plunged right in.
“Dracula is wrong,” I said.
“No he’s NOT!”
I frowned. “Did he tell you anything else?”
She munched another grape, stared me in the eye, as if to say, I can outwait you, dad. She was right.
“Oh, for Pete’s sake, what else did Dracula tell you?’
“He said vampires don’t like frozen grapes either.”
“Seriously? So who does like frozen grapes?”
She popped another grape.
“Me,” she said. “Only me.”
“I suppose I should have seen that coming. Can I please have a frozen grape?”
She took a grape and put it to the side.
“Not until it’s all warmed up.”