When Grandma Sabotaged Snack Time

Grandma and sweets are inseparable terms;
Like peanut butter and jelly, like daycare and germs.

Sweets entice hugs and more frequent meetings;
Grandma earns points when a cookie’s the greeting.

Homemade or store bought, it doesn’t much matter;
But when homemade I get to eat batter.

“Don’t spoil your appetite,” says Mom leaving in a hurry.
But filling my tummy should be the opposite worry.

Mommy’s now gone and I’m left in questionable care.
I ask for the sweets and Grandma points over there.

A splendid selection indeed! But real quick it gets hairy;
Grandma knows full well I can’t digest dairy.

Whether a senile moment or much darker intention,
a glass of poured milk attracts my attention.

“A small glass won’t hurt,” Grandma says with a smile.
Add another misstep to Grandma’s growing file.

Grandma hands me the glass, just as sweet as can be.
Who am I to refuse?  I’m but only three.

Cold and refreshing, the milk complements sweets,
Why doesn’t Mom let me have this silky smooth treat?

Low rumbles answer the question and tickle my tummy,
Like cookies on the plate, I feel kinda crummy.

Tickles turn to pains and smiles to frowns,
Knees start to shake and I slowly bend down.

No time to lose, this is happening quick,
I hid in a corner and my bottom gets sick.

My tummy’s now empty, I’ve ruined far more than dinner,
I want to go home now.  Grandma’s a sinner.