if it’s good enough for your mother to make the meal every night, it’s good enough for you two to clean up afterwards."

"And another thing," said Mum, "if you don't keep your rooms tidy, you get no pocket-money from now on."

"And I expect you,” Dad said to me, “to do the lawns every Saturday. I'm not very pleased with your lazy attitude."

And so on. By the time our parents finally went for their walk, we were loaded down with a ton of “helpful” jobs to do. Helpful to them, not us, that is.

"It’s all your fault!" I said to Gena as we did the dishes that night.

"No, it isn't!" she said. "It’s the chocolate truth's fault. It made our parents say what they really wanted to say."

"Well, don't go buying any more, or we'll be working till we die of old age!" I grumbled.

"Don't worry," said Gena. "I'm not going near that shop again!"

"There is one good thing about it though," I said, after a bit of thinking.

"What's that?"

"We know one thing for certain... Mum and Dad really love us. Isn't that cool?"

It sure was.