I made this deal, believing that at the end of the day I would still have my ten dollars, and my nephew would have nothing but the stink of failure on him, knowing that he can never best me (A win-win situation for me, as I have grown suspicious as of late, that he wants to kill me and claim my women as his own).
As the day progressed, I randomly assigned tasks of parenthood to him, such as filling out head-start papers for the brownie baby, and scolding it because it left the refrigerator door open. Malcontent took me, and I became ever more and more flustered to see him take such good care of his new found child. He completed each task as a responsible parent should. It was time to really test him. I framed the brownie baby by smearing a little of him on a rock and hurling it towards a buck-toothed girl on a big wheel, smashing her right on the eye. Hilarious. As I hid behind a bush and watched my nephew handle her parents like a champ, even asking to have the doctor’s bill sent to him, a change took place in me. Seeing him interact with and even stick up for his brownie, as well as witnessing all of the love it began to return to him, planted a jealous seed in my heart. After all, it was me, not my nephew who had carried it in my mouth. I was the one who had birthed it into this world onto a plate. It even had my eyes. I wanted my baby back, but I had to wait for the right time to act.
A few hours later, Hayden set his brownie baby down for a nap, but unknown to him, I had disguised myself as a crib, and he had set the brownie right onto my chest. As soon as the door was closed I sat up, victorious, with my brownie in my arms. My joy vanished as I looked into its eyes, and realized that it had no idea who I was. Though it was smiling, I could sense a little fear. The simple truth was my baby didn’t know me. Hayden was its father now. I choked the truth down, said my farewells, and left the room.
Hayden won his ten dollars, and he promised me that he would set the money aside for the brownie’s education. Also, the little girl on the big wheel died. So that was good.
4 comments:
The crotch in my funny bone is tickled.
I had a similar experience with a Hostess cake I carried for twelve minutes before birthing a beautiful, healthy, (other than the high fructose corn syrup, yellow #5 and red #40)spongy boy. The state thought they had a better idea regarding the guardianship of my child and he was taken from me. It's been three years of fighting now and I just finished a taping of the Maury Povich show confirming the paternity of my Hostess creation. I AM my baby's papa. Whoot woo!
I was a little insulted by the whole thing Joe. I am never making you brownies again.
That is perfect... so you. I love it.
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