whatever will keep this chocolate mine and in my face

So today we make a cake for my brother‘s birthday. I give a cake bowl to Nels; the spatula to Sophie. “Don’t get chocolate on your clothes. Here’s a napkin. Use it to wipe your hands. Don’t get chocolate on your clothes.”

“OK,” Nels tells me, “I won’t.” He reassures me repeatedly. I check in every now and then. “Are you getting chocolate on your clothes?” “No.” Ten minutes later, bowl squeaky-clean, Ralph brings The Boy to me:

P.S. it was in his hair and on his elbow.

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