My daughter’s friend skipped into the kitchen asking, “Where are the kiwis?” She was still in her Halloween costume, in which I’d watched her eat half a bowl of Kit Kats and 100 Grand’s over the past hour. That she was inexplicably asking her host for fruit was not to be judged. Yet before I could get off the couch to help her, she spotted them in a bowl on the counter. “Oh, there they are. Where’s a knife?”
“Here, I’ll–” but again I was too slow. She spotted one laying out on the cutting board and grabbed it.
“Oh, but this one’s dirty,” she observed. Now I really was getting up to intervene; this chirpy little guest was starting to embarrass me. No quit in this one, though. She turned right around to the sink and promptly washed off the dirty knife and wiped it clean with the dish rag that lay crumpled on the counter. Then she pivoted again, and halved the kiwi in a single, fluid, cutting motion. Looking around then, she asked where a spoon could be found, and this time I simply told her. She clearly did not need me to do anything for her. She fished a spoon from the drawer I identified and held it up to the light for inspection. Then she grinned and walked out of the kitchen, carrying two kiwi halves in one hand and a spoon in the other.
YoRocko! 
That’s a spooky Halloween story to me! My mother loved kiwis, but my dad did not. One of the things I made sure to do when I came out for visits was to get Mom’s kiwi ready in the morning so that Dad didn’t have to handle it for a little while. Be glad that your young visitor didn’t ask for the part that doesn’t taste fuzzy! I once investigated and found out that such an area is very small indeed. Thanks for the spooky memory and the story of Daughter’s very bold friend!