RAISIN-MUNCHING MONSTER

I figured I wouldn’t have to worry about the dangers of addiction for many years yet, but while I was complacently looking the other way, my daughter has become completely and uncontrollably addicted. 

To raisins. 

It’s my own fault – I kept a constant supply of snack boxes in my handbag to keep her from causing a scene on public transport. 

One box became two, until she was polishing them off like a raisin-eating conveyor belt. I should have spotted the signs. 

The desperate look in her eyes, the grasping hands, the pleading whine that only stopped when a box of raisins appeared. 

One day I made the terrible mistake of boarding a bus without enough dried fruit to last the entire journey. 

Big Sis was winding up to a full decibel meltdown until another mum stepped forward with an emergency bread stick. Thankfully it was enough to distract her until I could rush to the shops and stock up again. 

Who knew grapes could be so darn dangerous?