However, she didn't count on my arrival. When I saw the mound of chocolate frosting covered with chocolate chips and peeps I felt moved to come up with an alternate name for this cake. And since much of my humor revolves around pee or poop (or both) I quickly came up with "Peep Poop Cake".
So great was my haste to get my new-found title out of my mouth that it took me two tries. The first time sounded something like "Poop Peep Pake". Eventually, I managed to get the new name out of my mouth and beamed like a toddler who has filled the toilet for the first time (Hey, I'm working on a theme here).
My other sister-in-law, who is enamored with poop anyway, thought the new name was great. My wife probably just rolled her eyes, but I don't know as I didn't look to see. She has commented in the past on my predilection for scatological jokes, so I know what kind of reaction to expect from her.
Later, as I filled my plate with ham and mashed potatoes I could feel those beady black eyes boring into my back. I glanced over my shoulder at the peeps. They returned my look with a sugary, unblinking gaze and I felt a shiver slide down my back. Were they cute, canary-colored confections, or were they beings proficient in producing peep poop?
After stuffing myself full of dinner, and taking the required after-dinner nap, it was time to cut the cake. My sister-in-law laid out thick slabs of cake on little plates, each bearing a peep or two. When I was given my piece with a single peep affixed to the top I turned the plate so that the peep was looking away from me. If I was going to eat its poop, I didn't want him to see me do it.
Despite my misgivings I took a small bite of my cake. It was delicious. I tucked into my piece with gusto, and before long all that was left was my peep. As I scraped my plate clean with a fork I realized that I let my own name for the cake get the best of me. Peeps don't really poop, and what I ate was a terrific chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.
Unless, of course, peep poop tastes like chocolate.
So great was my haste to get my new-found title out of my mouth that it took me two tries. The first time sounded something like "Poop Peep Pake". Eventually, I managed to get the new name out of my mouth and beamed like a toddler who has filled the toilet for the first time (Hey, I'm working on a theme here).
My other sister-in-law, who is enamored with poop anyway, thought the new name was great. My wife probably just rolled her eyes, but I don't know as I didn't look to see. She has commented in the past on my predilection for scatological jokes, so I know what kind of reaction to expect from her.
After stuffing myself full of dinner, and taking the required after-dinner nap, it was time to cut the cake. My sister-in-law laid out thick slabs of cake on little plates, each bearing a peep or two. When I was given my piece with a single peep affixed to the top I turned the plate so that the peep was looking away from me. If I was going to eat its poop, I didn't want him to see me do it.
Despite my misgivings I took a small bite of my cake. It was delicious. I tucked into my piece with gusto, and before long all that was left was my peep. As I scraped my plate clean with a fork I realized that I let my own name for the cake get the best of me. Peeps don't really poop, and what I ate was a terrific chocolate cake with chocolate frosting.
Unless, of course, peep poop tastes like chocolate.
2 comments:
I Love it Keith! That was very well done! You came up with that one real fast! By the way which sister in-law were you thinking of that has the fixation on poop? Could it be Me???
Beda
What an imagination! Your "ramblings" gave me a few chuckles (no, not the candy). I always enjoy them.
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