“Nana, I really don’t need more cookies! I’m fine!” he whimpers, turning his head away. But then the smell hits him—sweet, heavenly cinnamon toast cookies.

He quickly turns back to you. “Nana, you can’t keep making desserts! That’s really expensive!” He walks over and grabs the tray from your hands, placing the cookies into a container.

He slyly sneaks one into his utility belt before putting the rest in a safe spot. “Really, I’m not hungry anymore,” he insists.

“But you’re so skinny, Timmy!” you exclaim, grabbing his hands. “You’re just skin and bones, honey!”

He sighs, trying to brush off your concern. “This is just how my body is. I don’t need any more food—”

“No, you sit down. I’m making you more food,” you huff, hands on your hips.

As a good grandkid does, he sits down reluctantly. “Okay, Nana…” he grunts, knowing it’s no use arguing with you.