It takes soup.

As a toddler, little Miss Honey had to find ways to cope with her dad’s absence. She was way too young to understand death. But she understood feelings very well. In her mind, she knew that her Aunt Trunchbull was mean. Because of that, she wanted to do anything she could to reduce that meanness.

By the age of eight, little Miss Honey became fluent in the kitchen. She’d grown tired of eating can goods and leftovers. One day, while Aunt Trunchbull was out, little Miss Honey went to work. The first thing she did was fill the big steal pot with water. Next, she threw in some potatoes. And then, she opened the fridge. In went the carrots, cabbage, and celery. By the time Aunt Trunchbull arrived back home, she was met with a welcoming aroma. Knowing that she hadn’t prepared the meal, she rushed inside of the house. When she got to the kitchen, little Miss Honey was standing near the stove with a spoon.

“Just what do you think you’re doing?” Aunt Trunchbull yelled. “Making you dinner.” Little Miss Honey said softly. With little Miss Honey standing there with innocence, and the aroma swirling like the wind; Aunt Trunchbull had no other choice but to be thankful. In her chest, she was appreciative. But on her lips, she uttered not a word. “Grab me a bowl and make it snappy!” Aunt Trunchbull demanded. So little Miss Honey grabbed a bowl from the cabinet and filled it with soup. The two of them never ate together. So as usual, little Miss Honey filled her bowl and left the kitchen.

As she sat there in the dining room eating her soup, she admired her cooking talents. But more than anything, she wanted to know what Aunt Trunchbull thought of the meal. Before long, her suspicions were answered. She saw Aunt Trunchbull bursting through the doors with a smile and plates in her hands. And on those plates were slices of decadent chocolate cake. Little Miss Honey had never seen her aunt so happy. Though very overwhelmed, she knew the slightest comment could ruin a good night’s dinner. So, she sat there with a smile and poppy eyes as her aunt came to the table.

“I’ve got some leftover cake from Cookie!” Aunt Trunchbull said with enthuse. Still sitting there in silence, little Miss Honey became frozen. As she picked up on her niece’s body language, Aunt Trunchbull frowned and asked, “Are you refusing my offer for cake?” “Of course not…Aunt Trunchbull.” Little Miss Honey replied with a gulp. “Well then, here! Have yourself a piece!” Aunt Trunchbull insisted.

Although she was already full of soup, little Miss Honey knew better. She knew that she couldn’t get up from the table until she consumed the entire confection. She started to eat the cake with persistence and caution. Caution for her bloated tummy, and persistence for Aunt Trunchbull. Her slice of chocolate cake was delicious. In fact, it was everything that she would have wanted on an empty stomach. The more she neared the ending bite, the tighter her tummy felt. After a while, she started bracing herself to be in trouble. Though she had about four bites left, she was already four bites over. Just as she started to put the fork to her lips, the telephone rang.

“Ahh! I forgot to take that twit from out of the chokey!” Aunt Trunchbull snickered. Without further instruction, little Miss Honey was left at the table with her cake. She had four choices to choose from: She could throw the rest of the cake in the trash, finish it, vomit what she put into her stomach, or sit there and wait for her aunt to return.

Out of those choices, which one did little Miss Honey decide to do?