Fried Food

There's a child who lives in my house. I'm sure that she's my daughter, because I watched her be born with my own eyes and I wasn't high - I felt every moment of it. And she has little hooks at the corners of her mouth, just like me. She also likes to sneeze in sets of two, just like me.

But she's blond, blond, blond, with the most beautiful blue eyes in the world, while I have gorgeous chestnut brown hair and deep, mysterious brown eyes. (Ahem.)

More importantly, she does not like fried food. Oh, she shares my love of spinach, all things pasta, spicy salsa, and many baked goodies, but she does not like anything fried or pseudo-fried. Baked soy corndogs or french fries do not fool her. She knows fatty fried-like food when she sees it.

After the Friday from hell, my mom and Paul both suggested that I stop for fast food as a treat. It's been too long since I finished Fast Food Nation, so I decided to do it. And even knowing that Ellie doesn't like fried food, I got her a 4-piece order of chicken nuggets. I figured that I'd probably end up eating them myself, which sounded good to me since I hadn't eaten all day. But she was so, so hungry after her long fast. She was fussing for food in the car, so I passed back a nugget. I glanced in the rearview mirror. She seemed to be eating it. She grunted for another one.

By the time we got home, she'd eaten all 4 nuggets. But when I went to take her out of her carseat, I found a neat little pile of all the fried breading. She'd peeled off the unhealthy bits and eaten the white meat. Amazing. I took her inside and fed her a normal lunch that relied heavily upon broccoli and leftover pasta from the previous night's dinner.

So under duress, Ellie will eat fried food, but only after removing the outside. What child is this?