Meals with Brett are usually a struggle. Left to his own devices, he'd happily live off of frozen foods covered in ketchup. Breakfast is usually interesting, since he's not overly fond of cereal. This morning he was standing there weighing his options.
"Mom, can I just have toast?"
"Fine, but make sure you put some peanut butter on it, and get a glass of milk."
"Milk??" The eyes roll. He starts to mimic choking and death throes.
"Yes milk. Pour a glass right now. And I don't want to find it sitting on the table later, still full."
"Okay, but you know what they say mom. You can lead a horse to water, but you can't make a Brett drink milk."
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