I’ve been working with my dad lately, helping him with some office tasks around the family business, so two or three times a week, I stay over at their house for a sleepover.
Now, I’m in an intense love affair with food. Oh man, do I love me some chocolate mousse crepes! I love vegetables too, but why couldn’t I love them as much as I love BBQ chicken wings dipped in Wingstop ranch?
Anyway, it’s after 9 pm and I find myself downstairs getting into a box of mini muffins. I take my treasure and sneak ever-so-quietly up the stairs and down the hall to the bedroom. Now I’m stuck – there’s a strict ‘No food upstairs’ rule, but I really want them. If you reeeeally want something then bending the rules a teensy bit is okay, right? It’s a dilemma.
I tear the bag open and dig in – sweet sweet taste of rainbows and
lily pads daffodils fill my belly with happiness… And then I hear a noise. (Gasp) They know. like a 12 year old child scared of the boogeyman, I cram the empty bag of evidence into my purse and pretend to just be lounging and watching tv. (You know, chillen out, maxin’, relaxin’ all cool)
False alarm. It was just my brother coming upstairs to go to his room, and here I am feeling foolish and dealing with a guilty conscious. Like the grown up that
I try to be I am, I’ve decided that maybe I should just listen to my mother, and never eat food upstairs again.
The moral of the story is:
Mom is always right.
Also, she has eyes in the back of her head so she probably already knows about this. Sorry, Mom.
But seriously, how cute is my mother?