The other night I realized that Chip was being very, very quiet. That, of course, can strike fear into a mother's heart quicker than an ominous retching sound in the formal living room. I wandered through the house, looking for Trouble, I mean Chip. Oh, I found him all right. In the kitchen, having himself a little snack.
Actually, that's not a little snack. That's the whole stinking cake.
Oh, how delicious the forbidden fruit! Or cake, in this case.
That, my friends, is the smile of a busted little guy.
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