I heard a new pop-country song recently about a little boy who wants to grow up big and strong just like his dad. The song begins:

Driving through town just my boy and me
With a happy meal in his booster seat
Knowing that he couldn’t have the toy
Till his nuggets were gone

It reminds of overhearing a end-of-her-rope mom explaining to her kids at some park — zoo? Disneyland? can’t remember — that they won’t get their ice cream until after they finish their hot dogs.

Since when did chicken nuggets and hot dogs become the nutritious entrees we have to bribe kids with sweets to eat?

When did “eat your broccoli / why? / i’m the mom, that’s why” give way to “eat your mac n cheese”?

Dammit. Now I’m craving my junk-food weakness: fried calamari. But I’d rather have raw oysters.

(Sushi taste on a Taco Bell budget, that’s me … )