"Oh, ham sandwiches - yummy!"
"What's this? Ham sandwiches? How dare you serve me this vile filth, you worthless excuse for a cook? Surely you can't expect me to ingest the slimy, putrid flesh of a mud-dwelling, snout-nosed animal encased in the yeasty, grease-coated offerings of some deranged baker? The mere thought of letting that revolting offering touch my delicate tongue makes me want to vomit, and frankly, a puddle of regurgitated porridge on the high chair tray is no more than you deserve. I demand jam, or at the very least cream cheese, and be snappy about it. As soon as I can talk, I'm phoning Childline."