The Picky Princess Was Never Picky

My name was Maisie Mahoney, and I was six years old. So far, my biggest accomplishment in life was making it to six.

Mealtimes at my house were basically a survival challenge. Mom's mashed potatoes were so hard I was scared they'd break my teeth.

Once, I even found an actual nail in my food. Mom said it must have come loose from the old pot and told me to stop making such a fuss.

After that, I always poked through my food with a fork before taking a bite.

Dad's soup was even worse. I never knew what color it was going to be.

The best one yet was bright green and bubbling on the stove, gurgling like something a witch would brew in one of my storybooks.

I stared at it for a long time before deciding there was no way I was drinking it.

Whenever Mom or Dad cooked, meals always went the same way. I ate a couple of bites of mashed potatoes, chewed my vegetables forever, and shook my head the second I saw the meat.

One time, Mom put some meat on my plate. I picked up a piece and found it was so tough I could tap it against the table and hear it knock.

I chewed it for ten whole minutes, then spat it into my napkin when no one was looking.

That night, I was too hungry to fall asleep. I curled up with my pillow and ate a couple of the cookies Aunt Lydia had left behind the last time she visited.

Crumbs fell into my bed, and I picked them up one by one and ate every last one.

At six, I didn't know enough to think any of that was sad. All I knew was that those cookies tasted a hundred times better than dinner.

Dad got so mad when he saw me that he slammed his hand on the table. "Keep this up and you're going to starve yourself."

I figured their food was more likely to kill me. At least if I didn't eat it, I might make it a few more years. I didn't say that out loud, though.

I honestly thought food was like this everywhere. I thought mashed potatoes were supposed to hurt your teeth, vegetables were supposed to taste bitter, and soup was supposed to bubble.

I figured grown-ups could get it all down because they had stronger teeth and stronger bodies than kids.

Whenever relatives came over to eat, things got even more interesting.

Aunt Lydia took one bite of the vegetables, and her face twitched once, twice, three times.

Then she gave Mom a big thumbs-up. "Nice and light! Very healthy! All-natural food is really popular these days!"

Uncle Tony took a sip of the green soup and closed his eyes for three whole seconds before nodding. "There's a lot going on in this soup. Very complex."

Grandma smiled at me sweetly. "You're too young to understand. Grown-ups know better. This kind of food is good for you."

Every time we ate together, everyone else praised the food while I sat there shaking my head. So Mom and Dad decided the food wasn't the problem. I was.

"She's spoiled," Mom said.

"She's too fussy. We need to do something about it," Dad said.

I sat at the table holding my plate, so upset I wanted to cry. But I was only six and didn't know how to explain myself.

All I could say was, "It's gross."

In my house, saying that was asking for trouble. Mom would get her feelings hurt, Dad would slam his hand on the table, and my relatives would hurry to change the subject.

"Oh, Maisie, you're so cute!"

After a while, I learned to keep my mouth shut. I stopped complaining and just ate less. And because I ate less, everyone started calling me the Picky Princess.

Then Mom made a decision that changed my life. She was going to put me on TV so the whole country could see just how fussy I was.