Eat What You Like Day

Alfie did not usually wake up excited about food.

Alfie woke up excited about facts.

So when he came downstairs that morning holding the tablet like it contained the meaning of life, everyone knew something unusual was about to happen.

“I have discovered something important,” Alfie announced.

Mum, halfway through making tea and replying to emails at the same time (a skill she did not remember learning), nodded vaguely. “Is it about volcanoes again?”

“No.”

“Dinosaurs?”

“No.”

Barry looked up from trying to balance a spoon on his nose. “Snacks?”

Alfie paused.

“…Yes.”

That got everyone’s attention.

“It is,” Alfie said carefully, “Eat What You Want Day.”

There was a silence.

Barry blinked.

“…What?”

Marmaduke, who had arrived early (as always, like a cheerful surprise that never left), gasped. “ANYTHING?”

“Yes,” Alfie said, holding up the tablet. “It’s on the internet.”

Dad leaned over. “Let me see that.”

Alfie showed him.

Dad read.

Paused.

“…Well,” Dad said, “that does appear to be a thing.”

Mum looked up sharply. “No.”

“It’s real,” Alfie said.

“That doesn’t mean we’re doing it,” Mum replied.

Barry slid off his chair. “I want cake.”

“Of course you do,” Mum said.

“I want biscuits,” Marmaduke added.

“I want structure,” Mum replied.

Alfie frowned.

“But it’s a day.”

“Yes,” Mum said. “A day that other people might celebrate. Not us.”

“That seems unfair.”

“That seems like parenting,” Mum said.

Barry leaned over to Marmaduke.

“We should still do it.”

Marmaduke nodded immediately. “Yes.”

Alfie heard this.

Alfie considered.

Alfie, who normally followed rules, respected rules, and occasionally enjoyed rules…

Hesitated.

“…It is technically educational,” he said.

Mum stared at him.

“Don’t you start.”

The morning continued.

Breakfast was normal.

Toast.

Cereal.

Sensible.

Disappointing.

Barry poked his toast. “This is not what I want.”

“You want chocolate for breakfast,” Mum said.

“Yes.”

“No.”

Meanwhile, at nursery, Barry and Marmaduke were already discussing it.

“We need a strategy,” Barry said.

“What’s a strategy?” Marmaduke asked.

“It’s a plan but more serious.”

Marmaduke nodded. “I like serious plans.”

At lunchtime, Alfie appeared.

Not officially.

Not as part of the schedule.

But because the school was nearby and there had been a perfectly reasonable (in Alfie’s opinion) excuse to “pop in.”

Miss Patel raised an eyebrow.

“Alfie?”

“I’m here to see Barry,” Alfie said.

Barry beamed. “You came!”

Marmaduke waved. “Hello!”

Alfie leaned in.

“I have thought about it,” he said quietly.

Barry’s eyes lit up. “Yes?”

“We are doing Eat What You Want Day.”

Marmaduke gasped. “YES.”

“But,” Alfie added, “we must be organised.”

Barry nodded. “Organised chaos.”

“No,” Alfie said. “Just organised.”

“What’s the plan?” Barry asked.

Alfie looked around.

Lowered his voice.

“We go to the kitchen.”

Marmaduke blinked. “We can’t go to the kitchen.”

“We can if we are careful.”

Barry grinned. “I like careful.”

Miss Patel turned her back.

Just for a moment.

A very small moment.

A moment that would later feel… significant.

“Now,” Alfie whispered.

And just like that—

The plan began.

They moved.

Quietly.

Well, as quietly as three small boys could move, which was not very quietly at all.

Down the corridor.

Past the coat hooks.

Towards the kitchen door.

Barry reached for the handle.

Paused.

“…This is exciting.”

Marmaduke nodded. “And dangerous.”

Alfie straightened his shoulders. “It is controlled.”

The door creaked open.

Inside—

The kitchen.

Shelves.

Fridges.

Cupboards.

Possibilities.

Barry stepped in.

“…Welcome,” he said, “to Eat What You Want Day.”

They approached the shelves.

Barry grabbed a biscuit tin.

Marmaduke opened a cupboard.

Alfie inspected everything carefully.

“We must not take too much,” he said.

“Why not?” Barry asked.

“Because that would be wrong.”

Barry thought about this.

“…Slightly wrong?”

“No.”

They began.

One biscuit.

Two biscuits.

A handful of crackers.

A small cake.

Marmaduke found a packet of raisins.

“These are healthy,” he said.

Barry nodded. “Balance.”

Alfie approved. “Good thinking.”

It was going well.

Too well.

Which, as always, was the problem.

“Juice,” Barry said.

He reached into the fridge.

Pulled out a bottle.

Poured.

A little too enthusiastically.

Juice spilled.

Just a bit.

Not much.

But enough.

Marmaduke stared. “That’s a lot.”

“It’s fine,” Barry said.

“It’s not fine,” Alfie said.

Alfie grabbed a cloth.

Wiped quickly.

Efficiently.

“This is why we plan,” he muttered.

They sat on the floor.

Their feast laid out.

Biscuits.

Crackers.

Raisins.

Juice.

Barry looked proud.

“This is the best day ever.”

Marmaduke nodded. “Best ever.”

Alfie hesitated.

“…It is… acceptable.”

Then—

The twist.

Footsteps.

Approaching.

Voices.

Miss Patel.

“Quick,” Alfie whispered. “Hide.”

Barry looked around.

“…Where?”

Marmaduke pointed at a cupboard.

“No,” Alfie said.

The door opened.

Miss Patel stood there.

Looked at them.

Looked at the food.

Looked at the juice.

Paused.

There was a silence.

A very long silence.

Barry smiled.

“…It’s Eat What You Want Day.”

Miss Patel blinked.

“…I see.”

Alfie stood up.

“This was a controlled experiment.”

Marmaduke nodded. “With raisins.”

Miss Patel closed her eyes briefly.

When she opened them, she did something unexpected.

She didn’t shout.

She didn’t panic.

She simply said—

“Alright.”

They blinked.

“…Alright?” Barry repeated.

“Yes,” she said. “You wanted to eat what you want.”

Barry nodded.

“Yes.”

“Now,” she said, “you will also learn what happens next.”

They waited.

Suspicious.

“You will clean up,” Miss Patel said.

Alfie nodded immediately. “That is fair.”

Barry sighed. “Of course.”

Marmaduke picked up a cloth. “I can wipe.”

They cleaned.

Carefully.

Properly.

Juice wiped.

Crumbs collected.

Everything returned.

Almost.

Mostly.

“And then,” Miss Patel said, “you will eat your normal lunch.”

Barry froze.

“…But we already ate.”

“You had snacks.”

“We had a feast.”

“You will still eat lunch.”

At the table later, Barry stared at his sandwich.

Marmaduke stared at his.

Alfie ate his.

Calmly.

Predictably.

“…I don’t want this,” Barry said.

“That’s unfortunate,” Miss Patel replied.

Marmaduke took a bite.

“…I am still hungry.”

Barry looked surprised.

“…Me too.”

Alfie nodded. “Because biscuits are not a balanced meal.”

Barry frowned.

“…They should be.”

They ate.

Slowly.

But they ate.

At home, Mum asked, “How was nursery?”

Barry smiled.

“We celebrated a day.”

Mum narrowed her eyes. “What day?”

Alfie stepped forward.

“Eat What You Want Day.”

Mum paused.

“…You didn’t.”

Barry nodded. “We did.”

Marmaduke added, “With raisins.”

Mum looked at Dad.

Dad looked at Mum.

“…At least there were raisins,” Dad said.

“That is not the point,” Mum replied.

Alfie cleared his throat.

“We also cleaned up.”

Mum paused again.

“…You did?”

“Yes.”

Mum sighed.

“…Progress.”

Barry leaned back.

“I learned something.”

Mum raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“Yes.”

“What?”

Barry thought.

“…Eating everything you want is good.”

Mum waited.

“…But you still have to eat lunch.”

Alfie smiled slightly. “Correct.”

And as the day ended, one thing was clear:

Eat What You Want Day

Was fun.

Was exciting.

Was slightly messy.

But also—

Surprisingly educational.

Even if no one was entirely sure

That had been the original plan.