Veggie Tales

There are some foods that Lisa refuses to eat.
And most of them are vegetables.
She knows that we expect her to eat them. So she'll still feed them to her mouth.
But that's where they stop. Those poor veggies never reach their gastronomical destiny. Somehow she manages to filter out the corn, peas and beans from being chewed and swallowed. Incredibly, they stay in her mouth, until she can't fit anymore food in.

At this stage, I'll ask her to chew. She won't even do that.
So tonight I left her at the table until she finished the mouthful of veges that had accumulated throughout dinner.
She was a sorry sight. She wanted to cry and scream, but she couldn't really open her mouth wide enough. She was so determined not to chew or swallow, that the excess saliva that was building up was trickling down the sides of her mouth. She was drooling profusely.
In the end though, she won. It was already 10:30pm. And we had no doubt that she would have continued until she fell asleep. So I let her spit it out. And when she ejected the mass with her tongue, it was pretty gross. All of those individual veggies, mashed and fused together in the sauna of Lisa's mouth until their identity was lost. Such a waste.
And as I looked closer, it was obvious that the mush was... very mushy.
Lisa could have easily swallowed it. But she stuck by her principles, even under the threat of a timeout in the corner.
If I wasn't so frustrated, I'd probably be impressed.