A week of carrots is enough for anyone. I am not a bunny! Je ne suis pas un bunny! No soy un bunny! I don’t want to see or smell another carrot in my life. I wish carrots would disappear from the surface of the planet. In fact they probably are disappearing, since you’re feeding them all to me.” “The problem with Sophie is that she’s a dramatic little Sarah Bernhardt,” sighed Mum. “Eat your carrot puree.” “I’m warning you, if I do end up turning into a rabbit, I’ll leave perfectly round little turds everywhere in the house. Everywhere. That’ll teach you.” “Eat your carrot puree.” “Bring me a rare, juicy, sinewy leg of lamb.” “Eat this and then you can have a banana.” “How about food for humans? I demand chicken korma and blackberry crumble.” “Not until you are cured.” “I am cured! I haven’t thrown up in fifteen hours and twelve minutes. Thirteen now. Can I go to school?” “No. Eat.” I yawned, and she took advantage of the open mouth to thrust an enormous spoonful of the disgusting orange paste into it.
