I made feet

Carl: Oh these look good.

Me [grins]: Mini tiramisu parfaits. You’re welcome.

10-year-old: Can I have one?

Me: You can have two if you want.

Toddler: Mine!

Carl [takes] huge bite]: Oh…

Me: Good, right?

10-year-old: You know what? I forgot I had more homework to do [runs away quickly before she can be interrogated].

Me: What?

Carl [mouth full]: Nothing.

Me: Don’t make me stab you. Spill it.

Carl: Ugh. These taste like feet.

Me: Why is it when you don’t like something you always equate it to tasting like feet.

Carl: Because feet are gross. Please don’t make these. Ever.

Toddler [throws spoon at me]: Mommy bad!

8-year-old: Hey, these are really good.

Carl: Did Mommy pay you to say that?

8-year-old: No [looks at me].

Me: What?

8-year-old: Can I get some money anyway for my good taste and for future comments?

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