The Donuts had brought a dead calf’s head for dinner, with staring eyes and oozing blood and everything.  Yuk! The entire house stank of decomposing bodies. 

        I locked myself in my room, and stuck my head out the window.  My mother knocked on the door to make me go downstairs for dinner.

      “I’m not going to eat with barbarians” I shouted through the locked door.

      “They’re Italian just like us,” said my mother.

      “We’ve never eaten animal heads for dinner!”

    “They’re from a different part of Italy.  They have different customs.  You don’t have to eat it.  Just come down.”

      I had to give up when my Dad got involved.  It’s useless arguing with him.   Walking as slowly as I dared, I went into the dining room, and there in the middle of the table was the calf’s head.

“Eeewww! Grrross!  Think of all the little calves that will never see their mommies and daddies again just so that someone could have a mouthful of animal flesh!” I said.    The Donuts just kept smiling and eating.  Mom looked kind of green, Marco squeezed his eyes shut and began to cry. That’s when my Dad got all outraged and sent me to me room.

Parents can be so thick.