We make tiramisu – an italian dessert (yummy, with raw eggs! google it!) and it’s perfectly fun.

She taunts me that *my* tower of cookies & fluffy creamy stuff is messy and not as pretty as *hers*.

As we’re finishing making the desserts, my cell phone rings. I go to get it, and sit down to talk to my husband a while. As I am still finishing my conversation,   she comes out of the kitchen to where I am.

Mom: “You left *all* the clean up to me. Thanks a lot.”

Me: “Oh, you could have waited, I’d have helped.”

Mom: “Yeah but it was messy. I’d have to look at it.”

OH, THAT EXPLAINS EVERYTHING.