We had a bayou down at the end of the block that was full of cat tails. We would pick them and bring them home. One had sat out on the front porch in a planter for about 6 months. I was standing inside the screen door. My sister, 5 years younger, was outside, as was my little brother, 10 years younger. He was *maybe* 3, and more likely 2.
Anyway, my little sister picked up the cattail and handed it to my brother. He was confused. I told him "Eat it Stuart. It's a corn dog."
He looked at me with trepidation (well, as much trepidation as a 2-year-old can have) until my sister said, "Yeah. Eat it. It's *good!*"
Keep in mind my mom was watching this with a little bemusement, not thinking anything would come of it.
But it did. He reared back, drew a bead on that nice, dry, dark brown corn dog with the nice fluffy center, and took a *big* ol' bite. I will never forget the tears rolling down my face, the stomach cramps from laughing until I almost wet myself, or my mom's look as she tried to keep a straight face while Sheri fell on the ground in hysterics and Stuart stood there with that highly-expandable cat tail fluff coming out of his mouth in vast, billowy clouds.
And to think... that kid with the corn dog phobia now works on nuclear missiles on a submarine for a living.