What A Sweet Child

My little sister is sick and my dad’s busy helping her, so he asks me to fetch the paracetamol from the fridge. I’m no older than ten, so I have not been allowed to open the box it’s in before. However, I have seen the outside of the box many times and it advertises in large bold letters that it is SUGAR-FREE.

I pass the bottle that was in the box and one of those double-sided medicine spoons to my dad, and I look at the inside of the box in confusion. Throughout this conversation, I’m almost oblivious to the fact that my dad is a little preoccupied with a less-than-happy toddler.

Me: “Where’s the sugar?”

Dad: “Why?”

Me: “I can’t find it.”

Dad: “It’s where you won’t be able to eat it.”

Me: “But I wanna.”

Dad: “Not now, [My Name].”

Me: “But I wanted to eat the free sugar.”

Dad: “Free? What?”

Me: “The free sugar. It says it right here, see? But it’s not in the box.”

Dad: “That’s not… Look, I’ll explain later. Put this away, please?”

Me: “Can I have some?”

Dad: “I said no sugar.”

Me: “I know. Can I have some of the parry-seat-moll?”

Dad: “Are you sick?”

Me: “No.”

Dad: “Then no. Just put it away.”

To my dad’s credit, he did explain later that “sugar-free” didn’t mean it came with free sugar. I was very disappointed.