“Lunch is ready!”

The children rushed to the dining table, only to be met with pure horror with what was on their plates.

“Pizza…” Luna started.

“…with pineapple on it,” Weslie added.

“Now, now, children, surely it can’t be _that_ bad—“

“Sara is allergic to pineapple!” Luna exclaimed. “Sara is going to college, she’ll be fine,” the mother said.

“Mom, you packed her food!”

“…Woops.”

_Ring, ring!_

The mother picked up the phone. “Hello?”

“Mom… almost all of the desserts you packed me have pineapple in it.”

“Don’t worry, you can probably go to a dessert place whenever you crave sweets. I’ll pay for it.”

“But Mom, how do I know you didn’t pack pineapple into any of my other meals?”

“…Just come home. You can pack your own meals.”