Me: (patiently eating my dinner)
Tim: I wish I had some pie.
Tim: Pie sounds so good.
Tim: I wish I had a pie.
Me: (slamming bowls and whatnot around the kitchen)
Tim: (standing thisclose to my face) What are you doing?
Me: giving him the silent treatment. Because, dishes, flour, sugar. PIE.
Tim: (not leaving me alone) You don't have to make pie.
Me: You told me a dozen times that you wanted pie.
Tim: That doesn't mean you have to make one.
Me: I'm making two.
An hour later...
Tim gets his SECOND piece of pie and goes to the table.
I make Isaac some whipped cream for his pie (the old fashioned way. you know, with cream and sugar)
I come to the table to sit with Tim.
He LITERALLY has crumbs all over his face.
ALL. OVER. HIS. FACE.
Me: (dumbfounded) What. Just what?
Tim: (giggling uncontrollably) You sat down too soon.
Me: For what? To see that you've put your face IN THE PIE.
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1 year ago