The Mystery of the Pork Chop Poetry

For dinner tonite, Nic made pork chops. Supper times are hit-or-miss with Benjamin lately. While he’ll eat every bite of his lunch, supper (or, for you New Yorkers, “dinner”) is often a battle — unless we have rice. He’d eat rice until his little belly popped.

At any rate, tonite was a good night for Benjamin and his supper. He ate a good portion of his vegetables, most of his potatoes, and all his pork. But although his eating was satisfactory, his behaviour was a little puzzling…

He’d carefully skewer each piece of pork with his fork, often picking up the meat with one hand and the fork with the other hand, connecting them so he could eat them properly. Then he’d put the pork in his mouth, and turn to Nic with the most serious, most thoughtful look on his face, and, with his mouth still full, say:

Msshw futh loosh neow?

He said this exactly the same with every single bite of his pork, with all the intensity of a University prof employing the Socratic method on his slowest student. We have no idea what he was trying to say — and Nic can usually figure out his more obscure interpretations of the English language. It got to the point where we had to decide if it was spooky or hilarious. We settled on hilarious and laughed at him with each bite for the rest of the meal.

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