Yesterday I met a bear in the woods. He cornered me in front of a tree and told me that he just made soup!

“Do you want to try the soup?” He asked.

I nodded. Because how can you tell a bear that you don’t want to try his soup?

So he ran off to his den and came back with a steaming bowl of soup in a small blue bowl. He held it out to me and I tilted my head down to take a sip. The broth was a brownish red and tasted like dead fish mixed with toilet water.

 EWW! I wanted to scream. But I didn’t, because how can you tell a bear that you don’t like his soup?

“Mmm! So good!” 

The bear blushed and smiled, and I noticed that his teeth were so, so sharp.

“Do you want to try my spaghetti and meatballs?” He asked.

I tried to think of how to politely decline. The bear watched me thinking and I could see the hurt on his face. I looked down at his paws. I was sure that they could kill me with one clean swipe.

“Of course!” I said, because how can you possibly say no when a bear asks you to try his spaghetti?

He brought me the spaghetti. But the noodles were squirrel hair, the sauce was made of squashed beetles, and the meatballs were actually acorns!

He watched me intently, then fed me with one of his big strong claws.

Oh how I retched! The squirrel’s hair tickled my mouth and scratched my tongue, the crushed up bugs tasted like sour dirt mixed with poop, and when I bit the acorn I nearly lost a tooth. 

“My compliments to the chef,” I said, playing my retch off as a burp.

“Chew slowly,” the bear instructed. “Savor the flavor.”

So I took my time eating the spaghetti, because what else was there to do? The hair and the beetle sauce mixed together to become something like eating a dead rodent covered in vomit. The acorns I had to swallow whole or risk cracking a tooth.

“So good,” I said. “But really, I’m full. No more! No more!”

“But you must eat dessert!” The bear declared. “I make an amazing apple pie! Wait here, I’ll be back!”

I sunk into the tree and fell to the ground as I waited for the bear to return.

The bear came back with a pie made up of leaves covered with ants. As he got closer, I recognized exactly what kind of leaves those were.

“That’s poison ivy!” I cried. “I can’t eat that!”

“You’ll be okay,” the bear chuckled. “Everyone loves my pie.”

“My throat will swell up and I’ll die!” I stood up and looked all around, trying to plan my escape.

“People say my pie is to die for,” the bear said. “But that’s only a figure of speech.”

“Mr. Bear, I’m sorry, but I can’t eat your pie.”

“What?” He cried. “No one has ever said no to my pie.”

I stood up as straight as I could and walked up to the bear so that we were face to face. “Mr. Bear, I have to tell you the truth. No one has ever said no to your pie because they’re scared of you.”

“Scared of me? No! Absolutely not! I’ve never hurt anyone,” tears welled up in his eyes as he took a seat on the floor.

“You’re big and scary,” I explained. “People think you’ll get mad if they say no.”

“I won’t get mad. I just want to make you happy. I want people to love my cooking.”

“I’m sorry for misjudging you Mr. Bear. You’re just so big and strong. I shouldn’t have assumed you’d get mad.”

“It’s okay,” he said, but I could tell that he wanted to cry.

“But Mr. Bear, do you like the taste of your food?”

“I think it’s amazing. I’ve been working on my recipes for years.”

“Do you enjoy making your food?”

“It’s my favorite thing to do!”

“Then that’s all that really matters,” I said. “Your food isn’t for me, but that doesn’t mean it’s not good. We can still be friends, can’t we?”

“Of course,” the bear said, a smile returning to his face. “Maybe we can have dinner sometime. How about next week? I’ll bring food for me, and you bring food for you.”

“Deal,” I said, and shook the bear’s paw.

So next week I’m having dinner with a bear. I could’ve said no, but he’s really a nice guy. Now that we’re on the same page, I think we’ll get along great.

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