The two girls you and Wilbur were babysitting wanted to play restaurant, so you did so.

The two of you sat at a small child’s table, the four year old walking out with a can of baked beans on a frying pan. “BAKED BEANNSSS” She yells, slamming it on the table. She quickly goes back and comes out with a plate with a bunch of random food all mixed together on it and places it in front of you. “Your special.”

Wilbur looks at the plate, making him swallow thickly for you.