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| Mr. Booger Finger. And Baby Brother. Photo: Kallie-Jo Tolley Photography |
In our house, over the holidays, love and good will abound.
And so does the food.
And the treats.
Especially the chocolate.
With, sometimes, amusing results . . .
A group of us adults were sitting around the table, intent
on a game of cards.
Members of the younger set were dashing in and out, intent
on activities.
Games.
And snagging treats.
We had just opened a new box of exotic chocolates.
A gift from our dear next-door neighbours.
Five different kinds of luscious, melt-able deliciousness,
each in a different (intriguing) shape.
Chocolate mousse.
Crunchy.
Espresso.
Crème Broulee.
And pistachio.
Each more mouth-watering than the last.
Our five-year-old discovered the box and immediately seized it.
“What’s this?!” he said, holding it up.
“Chocolates!” I said. “Really yummy ones!”
“Oooh! What’s this one?!” He jabbed a finger into the chocolate
mousse.
“That’s dark chocolate.”
“And this?” Another jab.
“Hey!” his dad said, taking the box. “Don’t touch all of the
chocolates with your booger-covered finger!”
Da-ad!” he said, disgusted. “That’s not my booger finger!”
He held up his other hand, pointer finger erect. “That one is!”
At least he was honest . . .
