Today was the day Mrs Brussels Sprout had looked forward to all her life. It was Harvest Day!
For months – and all through the cold winter – she had worked hard to produce twenty or thirty babies. Under each leaf nodule a baby had sprouted. She had quite lost count.
“Today, children,” said Mrs Brussels Sprout to her brood, “should be the proudest day of your life. The very reason for our being planted, the very reason for our existence, is about to be fulfilled. It is the climax of our dreams; the apex of our desires. When the gardener comes along and cuts us down, we will be ready to be steamed and sauced. Rejoice, O little ones! Rejoice!”
“Oh happy day!” sang the little Brussels Sprouts. “Oh happy day!”
“Here comes the gardener now,” called out Mrs Brussels Sprout. “He’s going to cut off my head. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! HELP! AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH! RUN CHILDREN! RUN!”