Pink Cherub Moon

My daughter, Shannon, made what she called a "cookie pie". Simply put, it's cookie dough-like crust housing what appears to be about three pounds of chocolate chips. She said it wasn't very good, "but go ahead, try it", she encouraged. Foolish human that I am, I did. Alas poor stomach, I knew you well.

This experience is not unlike the horrors of when she or Jim ask me to smell something, like milk. "Does this smell OK to you?" Look, just because I have a really good sense of smell doesn't mean I want to inhale every wretched thing on the face of this earth. Reminds me of when Shannon brought out a Summer Sausage from Christmas while I was working in the garden in August. I was totally unsuspecting of the age this ancient snack food of doom had behind it, so took a sniff. Whoa baby! I was prepared to retaliate that time, however, as while I was digging in the flower bed, I had found a opossum skull. I whipped it out from behind my back, roared and she ran squealing back into the house with the skull nipping at her heels. Seriously, it still had teeth. She still laughs about making me sniff that meat stick, but once reminded of the curse of the opossum skull, she calms down. I win!