Lima Beans

I sat to Dad’s right at the dinner table. It was an unfortunate seat, which allowed him effortless monitoring of what needed to be on my plate.
That night, it was lima beans.
“No!” I pleaded. “I hate lima beans!”
“You need to at least try them,” he insisted, lining up ten beans on my plate.
“I’ll throw up!” I sobbed, as I began choking them down. I don’t know what repulsed me more: their foul odor, rubbery skins, or mushy insides.
I puked on the linoleum floor, in Dad’s direction.
On her way to get a rag, Mom hissed to Dad: “Next time, you get to clean it up.”