Close, But No Cigar

| Related | April 8, 2012

(I am four years old. My mother (with me along) has bought some fancy cigars as a surprise for my dad. When we get home with them, she hides them in the butter compartment of the fridge, in the garage, and carefully coaches me not to tell him and ruin the surprise. As soon as my dad comes home, I run up to him.)

Me: “Daddy! Daddy! We didn’t get you a surprise, so whatever you do, don’t look in the butter holder in the outside fridge!”

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