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Fiddlesticks and drumsticks

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It was 7pm. Karen popped her head round our door and said,

– There’s some food in the conference room if you’re hungry.

Hungry? Who says we aren’t?!

– It’s cold so you’ll have to heat it up in the microwave.

(Who cares?!)

We ran over as fast as we could. There were platters of food laid out. Onion rings. Chicken nuggets. Chicken drumsticks. Dips. Pizza. Garlic mushrooms. Fruit.

Suddenly Patrice started shouting.

– He’s got a drumstick! He’s eaten chicken bones!

She tried to open my mouth but it was far, far too late. Mum said,

– It’s too late. He’s eaten it. He gets food down his neck faster than you would believe. It’s gone! Give up, Patrice!

Patrice was still trying to get me to open my mouth, while Karen, Kathy and mum stood there laughing at my greed. Mum picked up the bin and put it on a chair. Out of my reach. Patrice asked how my diet was going. Mum said she thinks I’m slowly losing a bit. They all agreed that I look better. Wahey! Does that mean I’m sexy?

So why am I still on this stoopid diet?

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