Strawberry

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It is funny how little things that normally go unnoticed now stick out.

We went out to dinner the other night and got some cake. For some odd reason restaurants try to class up cake with some cut strawberries. Just before the plate was taken I was transported back in time.

I was in my old kindergarten room where I think the desks were as old as the glaciers that once shaped our home state. I remember thinking how this was the same room my brother told his teacher a lie.

All the adults laughed about, they still talk about it today.

I never fully understood why some lies were OK and others were not.

When we were in school parents could bake treats and bring them in to celebrate. Some one in PT’s class had brought in a cake to share, a strawberry cake. PT stated that he was allergic to strawberrys.

After a phone call home my parents laughed.

That day we learned that he didn’t like strawberries and he learned how to tell someone no thank you when he didn’t care for something.

This story all because of the strawberry on the restaurant’s attempt to fancy up the plate.

 

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