What One Won't Think Of...

“MMMM! WHAT IS THIS?”

I was halfway through measuring a list of spices into a small glass bowl and didn’t hear him the first time, my youngest son standing on a pine chair at the kitchen sink.

“MMMM! WHAT IS THIS?”

When I looked over, the young man in question was repeatedly sticking one fat brown finger into a pile of freshly sliced raw chicken and licking the same finger, making a face that would almost convince you he was sampling the best pie on earth, and not uncooked poultry.

“Yali! Stop that!”

Meanwhile, big brother emerged from the back room, both palms of his hands plastered in blue ink. So was his t-shirt. Apparently the temptation of the home address self-inking rubber stamp was just too alluring a call to ignore.