Prison Matron: “Now, Dottie, is this really a proper way for you to behave?”

Dottie: “I don’t care! I’m sick to death of you bringing me the same lousy food on the same lousy tray every day.”

Matron: “Well, Dottie, I didn’t actually make the lousy food. One of your little felonious friends on kitchen duty is responsible for your cuisine. Perhaps you would consider settling this matter during free time in the yard? A rumble, perhaps?”

Dottie: “I don’t get free time. I’m stuck in this lousy cell all day.”

Matron: “Oh, that’s right. You’re on restriction because you don’t play well with others, with your annoying habit of stabbing people for the most mundane of reasons. Really, Dottie, if you yearn for more palatable nourishment, may I suggest that you stop trying to kill everyone around you?”

Dottie: “You are your fancy talk don’t mean nothing to me! I don’t never want to see another bowl of tapioca pudding on that tray again! Ever! Do you hear me? I want butterscotch or chocolate or even lemon. But no more tapioca! It makes me crazy!”

Matron: “I really don’t think we can blame the tapioca for your mental instability. Bad parenting, yes, poor life choices, check, and there might even be some childhood ingestion of lead paint in the mix, along with some form of fundamentalist religion to really mess you up. But really, dear, dessert? Sugary goo is not your albatross, trust me.”

Dottie: “Stop talking like that! Now, you better go find me something better to eat or I will cut you!”

Matron: “Hmm. I see that once again you did not plan well with your daily agenda. If I leave this cell, I’m sure as hell not coming back. But the tapioca pudding will, right on schedule. It will just be carried by someone else with less seniority.”

Dottie: “Oh. I didn’t really think about that part. Maybe my guidance counselor was right and I should have paid more attention in math class in school.”

Matron: “You had a guidance counselor? Never mind, it’s not important. And don’t be so blue about one of your plans failing once again. It’s just in your destiny. And by the way, I did bring along something new with your meal.”

Dottie: “Really?”

Matron:  “Yes, dear. It’s the other half of the scissors that you broke apart to fashion your primitive weapon. And the blade is currently pointing at one of your favorite body parts.  Now, shall we call this situation a truce so you can go eat your mundane tapioca and I can go request a job transfer?”