It turns out that my sister would. She'd pop one in straight from the packet and chew it until its rubbery goodness slipped out of sight with a fungal burp of satisfaction.
When did we start eating these things? I said I'd rather dip my toes in acid while being serenaded by twenty hungry foxes, than scoff a raw mushroom. The smell alone! It'd be like eating a veruca, or a bunion off a tree root.
My Mum said I should stop being so dramatic. I just think nature gives us warnings about what not to eat, by making it look unappealing and yes, occasionally poisonous. And for me, right at the top of the tree (or the bottom I suppose) are those little white, mouldy-looking toadstools that my sister seems to love, and which I think are the spores of Beelzebub.
"Get on with your pie," said my Mum, ending the drama. She's good at that. She's good at pie too. It was really tasty.
"What's in it?" I asked.
My Dad chipped in, "Chicken and m..."
"You don't want to know," interrupted my Mum. Wise lady.
No comments:
Post a Comment