This would be from around 1987, when I was still stepmother to four kids. The oldest 
and youngest were boys, and the two middle ones were girls. I've changed the names 
(to protect the guilty). The oldest boy had a severe weight problem and was constantly 
sneaking food, which he'd then hide (anywhere) and forget about. I found where he had 
stashed popsicles under his mattress when one of us walked in on him--nothing left but 
a big purple stain and the sticks! The only poetic license is in the very last sentence. 
Enjoy.

"Pizza on the Wall"

Chris knows he's not supposed to eat in the living room, and I specifically told him 
to stay away from the leftover pizza. In fact, he wasn't even supposed to be watching 
TV after I turned it off. So when I found the tomato stains on the wall and scraps of 
pepperoni on the floor behind the TV, I knew someone was in big trouble. I decided to 
start with the pizza eating infraction and save the wall for the big finale. 

At first he tried the old "who, me?" routine. You know the one:
"Gee, I have no idea what happened to the rest of the pizza. Maybe Dad took it to work 
with him, or one of the other kids ate it."

He realized he was caught when I pointed out the tomato stains on the pillow where 
he was sitting. While he was floundering for a plausible explanation, I decided to 
bring out indignation over the evidence clinging to the wallpaper. All the time I 
was wondering what possessed the child to throw the leftovers at the wall. I figured 
he might have had to dispose of the evidence quickly, but it was likely that he was 
just too lazy to take the parts he didn't like back to the kitchen. I underestimated 
the imagination and intelligence of the kid.

"Well, gee, I was sitting here with the pizza in my hand, " he began, but before I 
could wedge in an "AHA!", he rushed on, " and then you know what happened?" he paused 
for effect. "Crawling down the wall behind the TV I saw this killer spider, heading 
right for my sweet little brother who was sleeping right there." He beamed at me in 
anticipation of the shot he was about to deliver. "I didn't have time to look for 
something else, so I just threw what I had in my hand -- the pizza -- saving Bobby's 
life."

I'd never seen a ten year old look so noble, but I wasn't going to let the issue drop. 
Witness my brilliant repartee.

"Oh yeah, "  I said, "what kind of killer spider?"

I've got to give the kid points for smarts: he abandoned his favorite "poison jumping 
spider", knowing from past experience that I didn't buy the idea that common house 
spiders were deadly. He also ruled out the spectacular but rare black widow. Instead 
he latched onto every parent's hidden fear, the dreaded brown recluse or fiddler.

"Just look behind the TV," he said confidently, "you'll find the killer spider -- 
dead!" This was a calculated risk on his part. Chances are there would be a dead 
brown spider behind the TV (it's the house spiders favorite place to go to die), 
and if not, one of the pieces of dried ground beef would pass casual inspection 
(he knew I wasn't going to look that closely at any bug, dead or alive).

I knew I was whipped on the pizza throwing issue, so I decided to go back to the 
basic issues of watching TV and eating the pizza without permission. He was ready 
for me.

"Well, there was this special on Nickelodeon on nutrition. They were comparing the 
nutrients in different foods and one was different kinds of pizza; so I brought a 
piece in here to compare to the ones they were showing on the screen -- and that's 
when I saw the spider, you know."

I knew, and I should have dropped it then. I had been pestering him about nutrition, 
so he knew I wouldn't fuss at him for watching the show. But then I doubted there 
was such a show, so I decided to press my luck and asked him what they said on the 
special. I figured he would claim the excitement of the spider had made him forget, 
but again I underestimated the kid. I had given him just the opening he wanted. 

"Well, it was really interesting," he said. "They said that pizza has more of your 
minimum daily requirements than peanut butter sandwiches or tuna salad. In fact, 
pizza is only lacking one essential element -- an element that has been linked to 
juvenile delinquency." He paused, waiting for me to ask what element. I bit.

"Poly-nitro-samines" he intoned seriously, "an element found in only three natural 
sources: stewed Ramp, Rutabagas, and Hershey's chocolate syrup." He stared at me 
triumphantly before dealing the final blow: "I know Ramp smells awful, and I wouldn't 
want you to have to cook it, but I don't want to be a juvenile delinquent -- Please, 
take me to Weigel's and buy me some Rutabagas!"

He knows Weigel's doesn't sell weird vegetables; I gave him some chocolate milk of 
course, but I'll get even. I'm working on a new cookbook: 101 recipes for Rutabagas.