"Hey, Mama! Can I have an orange, please?"
"Yeah. Wait just a second, Sophie. I'll be out in a few minutes."
TWO minutes later, I walked out to find this:
A crime scene, involving one badly abused and mangled orange - lying in a pool of its own juices and tears.
"Um, Hannibal? ...(I mean) Sophie?"
"What part of 'wait' did you not understand?"
"Well, Mama, I did. I waited. But then I peeled it all by myself! Mmm. It's really good. SEE?"
"Yes, child, I see."
My advice to the rest of the Fruit Bowl: Run, little green apple, RUUUUUUN! It looks like you're next up for slaughter.
P.S Her t-shirt, in case you can't read it, says: "I do all my own stunts." We got it for her, ironically enough, right before she broke her arm in two places at 18 months doing a swan-dive off a dining room chair. Now it's her night shirt. Comes in handy for those after-dark stunts, like when she falls out of bed, mid-snore, and bounce/rolls totally befuddled over to the closet. ...Yeah. That was last night's trick.