When my siblings and I were little, my parents didn’t have special “kid dishes.” They served us scrambled eggs on bread plates.
Sometimes, the bread plates would run out, and they’d serve scrambled eggs on a saucer. Like all annoying kids, we might complain about it once we ate enough eggs to discover the indentation where the teacup was supposed to go.
My dad, undaunted, tricked us into believing we had won something special. He had a special song, like a fanfare: “The secret ring! You’ve found the secret ring!” Mollified or perhaps even pleased, the secret-ring-haver would would go back to eating their eggs.
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