The Picky Princess Was Never Picky

My whole family swears I'm the pickiest eater alive. I complain that the mashed potatoes are too hard, say the vegetables taste bitter, and refuse to touch meat. Dad gets so fed up he slams his hand on the table. "Keep this up and you're going to starve yourself." Mom takes it a step further and signs me up for a reality show that sends city kids to live on a farm. The producers already have my storyline mapped out. The spoiled city kid will refuse to eat, get so hungry she breaks down crying, and beg to go home. But when the first meal is served, I polish off three huge helpings. The livestream viewers lose it. "And she's supposed to be picky?" "Then why won't Maisie eat at home?" Chapter 1 My name was Maisie Mahoney, and I was six years old. So far, my biggest accomplishment in life was making it to six. Mealtimes at my house were basically a survival challenge. Mom's mashed potatoes were so hard I was scared they'd break my teeth. Once, I even found an actual nail in my food. Mom said it must have come loose from the old pot and told me to stop making such a fuss. After that, I always poked through my food with a fork before taking a bite. Dad's soup was even worse. I never knew what color it was going to be. The best one yet was bright green and bubbling on the stove, gurgling like something a witch would brew in one of my storybooks. I stared at it for a long time before deciding there was no way I was drinking it. Whenever Mom or Dad cooked, meals always went the same way. I ate a couple of bites of mashed potatoes, chewed my vegetables forever, and shook my head the second I saw the meat. One time, Mom put some meat on my plate. I picked up a piece and found it was so tough I could tap it against the table and hear it knock. I chewed it for ten whole minutes, then spat it into my napkin when no one was looking. That night, I was too hungry to fall asleep. I curled up with my pillow and ate a couple of the cookies Aunt Lydia had left behind the last time she visited. Crumbs fell into my bed, and I picked them up one by one and ate every last one. At six, I didn't know enough to think any of that was sad. All I knew was that those cookies tasted a hundred times better than dinner. Dad got so mad when he saw me that he slammed his hand on the table. "Keep this up and you're going to starve yourself." I figured their food was more likely to kill me. At least if I didn't eat it, I might make it a few more years. I didn't say that out loud, though. I honestly thought food was like this everywhere. I thought mashed potatoes were supposed to hurt your teeth, vegetables were supposed to taste bitter, and soup was supposed to bubble. I figured grown-ups could get it all down because they had stronger teeth and stronger bodies than kids. Whenever relatives came over to eat, things got even more interesting. Aunt Lydia took one bite of the vegetables, and her face twitched once, twice, three times. Then she gave Mom a big thumbs-up. "Nice and light! Very healthy! All-natural food is really popular these days!" Uncle Tony took a sip of the green soup and closed his eyes for three whole seconds before nodding. "There's a lot going on in this soup. Very complex." Grandma smiled at me sweetly. "You're too young to understand. Grown-ups know better. This kind of food is good for you." Every time we ate together, everyone else praised the food while I sat there shaking my head. So Mom and Dad decided the food wasn't the problem. I was. "She's spoiled," Mom said. "She's too fussy. We need to do something about it," Dad said. I sat at the table holding my plate, so upset I wanted to cry. But I was only six and didn't know how to explain myself. All I could say was, "It's gross." In my house, saying that was asking for trouble. Mom would get her feelings hurt, Dad would slam his hand on the table, and my relatives would hurry to change the subject. "Oh, Maisie, you're so cute!" After a while, I learned to keep my mouth shut. I stopped complaining and just ate less. And because I ate less, everyone started calling me the Picky Princess. Then Mom made a decision that changed my life. She was going to put me on TV so the whole country could see just how fussy I was. Chapter 2 "City Kids Gone Country" was a reality show for spoiled city kids, bossy little brats, and hopelessly picky eaters. The night Mom saw the promo, her eyes lit up like she'd found treasure. She slapped her thigh. "This is it! Let the whole country see what I have to put up with!" Dad agreed right away. "Exactly. Maybe Maisie will finally learn not to take food for granted." On the application, under "Reason for Participation," Mom carefully wrote, "Extremely picky eater. Refuses almost everything we serve." Dad added, "Maybe going hungry for a while will make her behave." But when our relatives heard the news, they reacted nothing like Mom and Dad expected. Aunt Lydia was the first one to rush over. She'd barely made it through the door before she grabbed Mom's arm. "Penny, Maisie really isn't that picky." She stopped there, thought for a second, then tried again. "Maybe you could get a new pot first?" Mom looked confused. "What's wrong with this one? It works just fine." Aunt Lydia looked at the pot Dad had used to make the green soup. She opened her mouth, closed it, then opened it again. Finally, she said, "A new pot might bring you some luck." Uncle Tony showed up too. He pulled Dad aside and spent forever talking in circles. "Steve, Maisie's still little. Country life is hard. She might not be able to handle it." Dad blew out a ring of smoke. "You all spoil her too much. That's why she keeps getting pickier and pickier." Uncle Tony opened his mouth, glanced toward the kitchen, then swallowed whatever he'd been about to say. He looked at Dad like Dad was the one who needed help. That night, one relative after another called to talk Mom and Dad out of sending me on the show. The house phone rang so much I thought it was going to overheat. Aunt Doris offered to let me stay with her for a month. She even said she'd pay for us to hire a cook. Mom refused every offer. "The more you baby her, the worse she gets." Dad went ahead and paid the entry fee so there was no turning back. "The money's already paid. We're not backing out now," he said. Grandma was the last one to call. Her voice was shaking. "You're really going to send her?" Mom answered without hesitation, "Yes! I want the whole country to see just how picky she is." Grandma was quiet for a long time before finally saying, "This is just awful." Once everyone realized they couldn't change Mom and Dad's minds, they came up with Plan B. They decided to make sure I had plenty to eat. The night before I left, they secretly gathered in my room and crowded around me like we were planning some kind of secret mission. Aunt Lydia stuffed a few granola bars into my backpack. "Eat these if you get hungry." Uncle Tony slipped in some beef sticks. "Keep these hidden. Don't let your mom see." Grandma added a huge bag of cookies, her hands shaking as she tucked them inside. Grandpa lowered his voice and gave me a very serious look. "Maisie, when you get there, don't go telling everyone about stuff from home." "What stuff?" Grandpa paused. "You know, the stuff about your parents' cooking. No need to embarrass them." I wasn't totally sure what he meant, but I nodded anyway. My backpack was packed as full as it could get, but seeing all those snacks only made me more nervous. The food at home was already awful, and my relatives were cramming my bag with snacks. So that could only mean one thing. The food there had to be even worse. I hugged my backpack to my chest and prepared myself to go hungry for a whole month. The day I left, Mom faced the show's camera and announced, "I want the whole country to see just how fussy this kid is!" The camera turned toward me, but I didn't react. After we'd driven a long way, I turned around and looked back through the window. Aunt Lydia, Uncle Tony, Grandma, and Grandpa stood in a row, all waving goodbye. They looked like they were sending me off to war. Mom and Dad stood in front of them, looking completely sure I'd come crying and begging to go home. They had no idea what was coming. Chapter 3 I saw the show's script later. They had the whole thing planned out. First, I was supposed to play the spoiled city kid who turned up her nose at a simple country meal and refused to eat. Then I was supposed to get so hungry that I broke down crying and begged to go home. By the end, country life was supposed to teach me a lesson, and I'd tearfully promise never to be picky again. Mr. Dawson, the director, was so sure that was how things would go that he set up five cameras, ready to catch every tear. Then they served the first meal, and everyone froze. It was nothing fancy. There were mashed potatoes, roast chicken, green beans, and gravy. Every camera turned toward me, waiting for me to make a face. I did frown, just not for the reason they thought. The mashed potatoes smelled way too good to trust. After six years of eating at home, I knew better than to trust food that smelled that nice. There had to be something wrong with it. My mouth watered, but I still didn't dare take a bite. Mr. Dawson crouched down beside me. "Maisie, you don't like it?" "I'm scared I won't be able to chew it," I said quietly. For one whole second, nobody said a word. Ms. Latimer, the older lady I was staying with, blinked and pushed my plate a little closer. "Honey, the mashed potatoes are soft." Soft? Mashed potatoes could actually be soft? I didn't believe her. I'd never had mashed potatoes that weren't hard. But the other kids were already digging in, eating as fast as they could. They cleaned their plates in no time, and not one of them broke a tooth. Then my stomach let out a huge growl. Everyone heard it. The comments immediately started flooding in. "LOL! Looks like the Picky Princess is finally going to eat!" I finally took a tiny bite of mashed potatoes, half expecting to bite down on a nail. The second they hit my tongue, I froze. They were actually soft! They didn't hurt my teeth. They weren't hard, they didn't taste burnt, and there wasn't a nail hiding inside. I tried a green bean next. It was a little sweet and crisp. Even the color looked normal. Then I tried the roast chicken and gravy. The chicken tasted like chicken, and the gravy tasted like gravy. That was when I burst into tears. Mr. Dawson panicked. He thought I was crying because I hated the food. He called out, "Cut! Cut! You don't like it?" Still crying, I pulled my plate closer and started shoveling food into my mouth. "It's good! It's so good!" I cried through a mouthful. I ate three huge helpings. Tears kept falling onto my plate, but I didn't even stop to wipe them away. Then I looked up at Ms. Latimer hopefully. "Is there more?" The viewers immediately started reacting. "And she's supposed to be picky??" "The whole Picky Princess thing fell apart on day one. That has to be a record." "She's crying while she eats like she hasn't had a decent meal in forever." "Seriously, what were they feeding this kid at home?" Mom and Dad were watching from home, and they looked more horrified by the second. Mr. Dawson seemed to realize something was going on. "Maisie, why don't you eat at home?" he asked. I clutched my plate and sniffled. I didn't know what to say at first. Grandpa had told me not to tell people about stuff from home. But the food tasted so good that I forgot all about his warning. "Dad's soup has green bubbles, and Mom's mashed potatoes are so hard they're like nails. I'm scared to eat their food." Ms. Latimer looked doubtful. "Maybe she just doesn't like the food at home. Or maybe she's making it sound worse than it is?" The crew seemed skeptical too. They thought I might be exaggerating. Right then, I reached into my backpack and pulled out the lunch Mom had packed for me. She'd made it for me to eat on the way there, but I hadn't dared touch it. "Mom made this. You guys can try it." Ms. Latimer was the first to take a bite of the mashed potatoes. She chewed three times, then froze. "These are mashed potatoes? At my age, I almost lost a tooth." One of the younger cameramen didn't believe her, so he tried a bite of the vegetables. Three seconds later, he went pale, then green. He covered his mouth and ran straight out of the room. Another crew member took a bite but didn't even dare chew. He quietly walked over to a corner, turned his back to the camera, and spat it out onto the floor. When he came back, he looked at me with a whole new respect. The viewers lost it. "So the Picky Princess isn't picky. She's just trying to stay alive!" Mom and Dad were watching from home, and their faces went green when they saw that comment.