Ricci Schwarzler - Table

She sat on the table watching her mother cook. Her five-year-old legs dangling and swinging as she watched.

‘I want to sit on the bench.’

‘You can’t.’

‘But I want to. I can’t see what you’re doing.’

‘Well you can’t and that’s not a good reason to put your dirty little bottom on the bench.’

‘Why not?’

‘Because I said so.’

‘Well, that’s not a good reason.’

Outsmarted by her five-year-old daughter the mother continued cooking with the ferocity of someone outsmarted by their five-year-old daughter.

‘Why are you banging the meat so hard Mummy?’

‘Because you have to.’

‘That’s not a good reason.’

‘Yes it is.’

‘I don’t think so Mummy.’

The meat mushed under the meat tenderizer.

‘Stop swinging your legs. The table is rocking.’

‘No it isn’t.’

‘Yes it is. I can hear the legs tapping on the floor.’

With that the tapping turned to banging and was at risk of overtaking the noise of the tenderizer.

‘STOP IT. You’ll tip it over.’

‘No I won’t.’

‘Yes you will.’

‘How do you know?’

‘Experience.’

‘That’s not a good reason, Mummy.’

BANG, CRASH, ASTONISHMENT!

The meat tenderizer was the only sound.