I made some chicken wings for lunch today. And yes, Mina said something morbidly funny, yet again.

First, she says, matter of factly “after we shoot the chicken in the head, we take them to the shop and the man cuts them up for me to eat. Is that right Mum?”

Me (under muffled laughter): “Yes Mina, something like that.’

I then give her her little chicken wings and she looks at them, then says “Muuum, these are really small. Did they come from a baby?”

Me: “Maybe”. Oh God.

Mina (in that kindergarten taunting song): “I’m eating a baby, I’m eating a baby, I’m eating a baby, I’m eating a baaaaaaby!.”

I remember being grossed out by the prospect that meat came from animals. Not Mina, no. Instead, she rejoices in the idea of eating the LITTLE BABY CHICKENS. And is quite comfortable with the idea of a chicken being shot in the head. chopped up, for her plate. There’s nothing like the anti-Singeresque ethics of a 4 year old to completely disarm you.

What on earth have I created?