Just don't harm the bananas

I was read a friend's blog and it reminded me of a similar course of events with my kids.

It was November 2008 in Cairo, Egypt. I was back in the family room puttering around. Grant comes running in at full speed.

"Mommy!" he yells, "Can I have a banana, too?"

"Sweetie, we don't have any bananas," I said, "Who has a banana?"

"Jaqui has one!" he responded. I asked Rere (my fantabulous housekeeper in Cairo) if she had given a banana to Jacqui.

Rere said, "No ma'am, we don't have any. Remember to put 'bananas' on your grocery list."

So the three of us are all puzzling about bananas and Jacqui come toddling around the corner with a peeled banana in her had. (she is all of 17 months old at this time)

I ask Jacqui, "Where did you get that banana?"

She said, "NANA!" and took a big bite. Where did she get that banana? It didn't look spoiled. Did she have her own stash of bananas somewhere? What else was she holding hostage in her secret hidey place? We never did solve the mystery. Maybe the next tenants of our apartment found that banana prison, freeing little black lumps of banana bread candidates, along with who knows what else. All of our left socks?