“What can I say, I don’t like lasagna.”
“Nobody doesn’t like lasagna. It’s one of those things everyone likes.”
“But I don’t, there’s something about it. Too noodly? Too much sauce? Maybe it’s the cheese? But I just don’t like it.”
“Wait, you don’t like cheese? How can you not like cheese?”
“I like some cheese. But not the cheese on lasagna. Too stringy.”
“You’re too stringy.”
“Your face is too stringy.”
“It is, isn’t it?”
Down the hall, a voice called out, “Tonya! Dinner’s ready!”
Tonya ran down the hallway to the dining room table, climbed onto the chair, and sat. Her father set the pan of lasagna on the trivet, then dished some out to her.
“Who were you talking to over there?” he asked.
“No one, Dad. Just myself.”