little master

eighteen.

The parent-teacher meeting was held on Saturday morning, and it was already time for dinner after the work was done. The young master picked a restaurant, and I took him there quickly.

He may also feel a little guilty for hitting me, and asked me what I want to eat for the first time when ordering food.

I was flattered, but I still insisted that I am not picky eaters, I can eat anything, "Master, just order what you like."

The main reason is that I just lied to him, and I feel so sorry that I dare not accept this kind of preferential treatment.

I'm afraid that one day he will wake up and he will settle the score together with my behavior of kicking his nose and face.Then I can't eat and walk away.

But what I didn't expect was that even though I had fully expressed my willingness to listen to the young master's opinion, I also said that I was no longer in pain.

After thinking about it seriously, he called the waiter over with a deep expression.

I thought he had found something wrong, just sitting upright with an aura that strangers should not get close to, and whoever touches him will seek death, when I heard him ask the waiter seriously:

"Do you have pig brains here?"

I:"……"

"???"

I was stunned for a moment before I woke up, this is the rhythm of what I eat and make up for!

How could he have thought of this layer?

Seeing that he seemed to really want to order a pot of pig brain soup to nourish my brain, I quickly stopped:

"Master, I'm really fine. My head doesn't hurt at all. If you don't believe me, I can show you a unique skill of smashing walnuts on the spot!"

The young master glared at me: "I didn't talk to you!"

Turning around, he asked the waiter who had already petrified on the spot: "Is there any?"

I looked at the elegantly decorated box, remembered the star rating marked by the restaurant, and silently shut my mouth.

The waiter maintained a standard stylized smile: "Sorry sir, our restaurant does not offer such dishes for the time being."

The young master regretted: "Oh, forget it."

I let out a sigh of relief.

Unexpectedly, he then whispered: "Then wait a while and see if there is any on the way home."

I:"!!!"

He did what he said, and in the end, after holding a pot of pig brain soup and drinking it bitterly under his supervision, I finally realized what it was like to shoot yourself in the foot with a rock.

I don't know where he learned that the soup restaurant in the alley is good, he insisted on dragging me to buy it, and asked for the largest portion, and watched me drink it himself when he got home, not leaving a drop.

After handling the dishes and chopsticks, I almost moved to the sofa, my stomach was about to burst my abdominal muscles, and I didn't dare to knead vigorously.

The key is to look at the young master's expression of "see how I treat you", I still can't tell the truth, I can only force a smile: "Thank you, master."

He gave a light "hmm" and walked over again, seemingly casually touching my head. I smashed the can and smashed my head directly into his palm to show him, proving to him:

"I'm really well!"

The young master rubbed it hard a few more times, and believed my words.

After this painful lesson, I secretly wrote down the precautions in my heart:

It's okay, I really can't joke with the young master, if he takes it seriously, the only one who gets hurt can be himself.

I will never drink pig brain soup again in my life.