So. . .10 Scotch tapes (I'm always out. ALWAYS. And they were 70% off.), a bucket of coffee, and 2 steeply discounted t-shirts later, we rolled through the checkout with these babies:
|I had to buy the special edition Halloween Oreos because look! Bats! Yup. I'm a sucker for marketing.|
Oh look! I said. These are special - they have a roll top and little tabs. How quaint. Then I ripped open the package. Oh dear god. Oh dear god. These smell. . . awful. And the smell was everywhere - the scent of canned white frosting.
I handed one to the Honey Badger, who immediately twisted it apart and said (I can only assume, as my baby translation isn't so grand) Why mother, you are wrong, these look delectable - I shall now suck the yellow and orange goo off of this side while I jam the other half under my butt to warm it up.
I ate one myself.
Then I broke into the Halloween Oreos with orange middles to try to kill the taste. It didn't. I think the orange goo might be pervasive to this season's specialty Oreos. Or, wait, is that just how they taste all the time? It's been awhile, I'll admit it.
Five minutes later, Honey Badger piped up from the back seat: Anodder cookeeeeee mommy? Anodder cooooooookkkkkkkkkkiiiiiieeeeeee?
And because I am the world's best, most amazing, clearly superior mother, I gave her one.
It took her the next 45 minutes to eat it. It was as if she knew in her heart it was a cookie and thus should be good because, hey, cookie.
Right after she finished she asked for gum. Which she promptly swallowed.
Then asked for more.
Me? I came home and brushed my teeth.