I had offered Michael a whole pack of Trident, as an incentive to clean his room, and there he was telling me it wasn't worth the time it would take to pick up three shirts, a pair of socks, and the Hungry, Hungry Hippo game that littered the floor.
Four years before, when my oldest child was six, no self-respecting kid that age would ever turn down a proffered piece of gum, unless it had already been chewed. But nowadays it isn't enough to hand out gum that just tastes good and maybe freshens your breath in the bargain:
"What do you mean it's just plain gum?" I said pointing to the famous brand name on the label.
"Does it have jewel-like gems of jelly on the inside?" Mikey piped up in a TV announcer's voice.
"Well, no."
"Does it have a candy sucker coating on the outside?"
"Not exactly."
"Does it make magic mini-explosions in your mouth? Is it shaped like a ring, rocket, or radar gun? Does it come in a thousand little confetti bits, shreds, shavings, or shards? Can you thread it on a string for an edible pendant? Does it come with a special stamp for reuse as magic sealing wax?"
By that time I was pretty impressed with the little guy's sales-hype vocabulary but had to admit my pitiful pack of gum didn't do any of those things.
"Then I won't clean my room," my son clamped his lips together. "Who wants a piece of gum, if all it does is chew?"
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| Then I won't clean my room! |
