During a recent snack shortage whilst shopping, I took the girls to Cinnzeo.
For those of you fortunate to have never been to this evil place, they sell cinnamon rolls. Gooey ones. Evil ones.
Not only was I forced to buy their little rolled up droplets of evil, but while I was standing at the counter some mean old man made me buy a side of cream cheese icing too. Terrible. I hate that guy. He also makes me buy chip dip and chocolate chip mint ice cream sometimes when no one is looking.
The girls are so hungry that the mini-cinnamon-rolls are almost gone before I even get the lid off the icing.
“What’s that, Momma? Is it whipped cream?” Lala looks suspiciously at the container. She hates whip cream. I don’t know where I went wrong.
Little Em-”It’s cream? I have it?”
Me-”It’s evil. You don’t want any.”
Momma is not to be believed. My girls know this. They both stick a finger in and taste.
Lala-”It’s good. Yum.”
Little Em-”It’s evil, Momma?”
She tastes again.
Little Em-”Evil cream Momma?”
Evil cream Momma?
Oh dear, that doesn’t sound good. Maybe I am reading too much into this, but at the time, it sounded practically apocalyptic. Perhaps it was the sugar high making her pupils too big in concert with the icing drool running down her chin that made it sound so sinister.
Evil will NOT be creaming this Momma. First, I don’t believe in Evil, even after I saw the movie Showgirls. Second, Evil has to find me first.