Yesterday, Alex and I went to visit his parents for lunch, which consisted of rotisserie chicken, rolls, and a vegetable blend that included carrots, parsnips, potatoes, cauliflower, and brussels sprouts. Alex’s mom had tried cooking brussels sprouts before, and still found their taste to be unsatisfactory. I had never tried them before, but I followed her rules: everyone had to try at least one brussels sprout among their vegetables.

I tried them, and I like them. No longer could I say, “I do not like them, Sam-I-Am.”

Oh wait, wrong story.

So yeah, I liked them. The bogeyman of the vegetable world, and I liked them. I even added a few extra to my plate, and Alex’s mom noticed. She commented on it later. I don’t think she believed me. She said that if I didn’t like them, it was okay. But I was being honest – they were good. It was funny, though. She said, “Sam’s my favorite kid now, because she ate more brussels sprouts without being asked.” I stuck my tongue out at Alex, to which he responded with a “Hmph!” I love him and his family, and I’m glad they like me, at least – brussels sprouts and all.