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    My mom sent me to my room because I "made" my brother eat soap. This is not true. In no way did I "make" Toby eat the soap. I only suggested that he should. "Making" and suggesting that someone do something are two entirely different things. I wasn’t trying to be mean. I didn’t even know that soap tastes bad. I was curious, that’s all. I was dying to know whether or not the delicious smelling soaps in the bathroom actually tasted as good as they smelled. I just wanted to be educated . . . and look where it has gotten me. Instead of playing on the swing set with my dolls, I’m stuck inside.
    Upon entering the upstairs bathroom, I couldn’t help but notice the small colorful scented soaps lying innocently in the wicker basket next to the sink. There were five of them: two pinks, one blue, one red, and one purple. They smelled magnificent! "Hmmm...I wonder if they taste good," I said to myself. I assumed that the pink, blue, and purple ones wouldn’t taste good because they smelled like flowers. Rose, lilac, and some unidentifiable flower. The red, on the other hand, smelled like apples.
    Still unsure whether or not I should taste the soaps, I called my brother into the bathroom. "Toby, smell this!" I handed him the red soap. "Mmmm!" he sighed.
    "Wanna taste it?" I asked.
    Innocently, he shrugged his shoulders. "Okay," he replied.
    "Wow, that was easier than I thought," I said to myself.
    He took a bite of the soap. A moment later his eyes watered up and he spit the soap out. Frantically rubbing his tongue, he cried: "It burns!"
    I started to laugh—not because he was in pain, but because of the red chunks of soap that were stuck between his teeth. Seeing me laugh, Toby burst into tears and ran downstairs to get my mom.
    "Toby, what did you do?" my mom asked.
    "Catherine made me eat soap!"
    "Catherine! Is this true?" she asked. "No! I didn’t make him."
    Flailing his arms, Toby sobbed, "Yes she did!"
    And that brings me to where I am right now . . . grounded, in my room.