IT IS quite clear that children are simply perverse creatures.
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Psychologists in Belgium conducted research on how to get kids to eat their greens, especially universally hated ones.
You’d probably guess that brussel sprouts, cabbage and cauliflower appear on that list but apparently the most detested vegie comestible is chicory.
Personally, I can’t see why anyone would ever put chicory in their mouth, but that’s Belgians for you.
Anyway, though the children hated it, that’s not the point: testing three groups the Belgian boffins offered one group tangible rewards for chewing on some chicory, another group was lauded with praise and the control group just had the foul weed slapped up without any explanation.
Surprisingly, it was the latter group that actually responded most strongly that, yes, it wasn’t as bad as they thought it might be – another reason not to ask a child for their opinion on anything as far as I’m concerned, but there you are.
The groups offered rewards and praise, on the other hand, were far less likely to say that the chicory was swallowable; which leads me to wonder why we constantly cajole and jolly kids into conforming with any of the simplest social niceties – just say “we’re going out” and they’re less likely to kick up a stink in the middle of the street than if you pander, plead or bribe them with trinkets.
Chicory might be the most hated vegetable for Belgium’s infants but the worst thing I’ve ever tasted from that neck of the woods was a roll-mop.
These are rolled-up raw fish cured in what’s possibly brine but reminded me of a Chux-wipe in paint stripper.
And there’s the rub: you can bet your bottom brussel sprout that all three kid groups would chomp happily on those monstrosities.
But if that’s not perverse enough to make you suspicious of toddlers for life, I also noticed a Big W recall notice for smaller sizes of a particular “girls bomber jacket”.
It seems that “the zipper slide may detach from the zipper” (as an aside I thought all zippers instantly break on purchase; but apparently not) and “pose a potential choking hazard”.
Now, choking hazards are a serious topic but, I ask you, what sort of creature will clamp its mouth shut like a steel trap at the sight of a plate of peas but considers zipper slides to be desirable forage?
You can forget about the debate as to the point at which the foetus becomes human – it’s patently obvious that even toddlers are an alien species of some description and simply resemble human beings.
My own opinion is that it’s only somewhere around the time that you learn how to bite the bottom off a cream horn and suck out the contents, so that you can then safely crunch your way through the cone, that humanity mysteriously descends upon us.
It’s a bit like the rite of passage in becoming Australian – you’re not really an Aussie until you have a permanent scar on the webbing between your thumb and fore-finger.
This is the exact spot where the scalding contents of a piping hot meat pie squirt or dribble out somewhere twixt the first and third bite.
I’ve seen grown men with this white hot lava dripping onto their hands as they munch and slurp away, tears streaming down their cheeks but refusing to acknowledge the agony by churlishly yelping like... well, like a Belgian psychologist probably would.