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Kitchen Detective

It was with deep concern that my son bustled out of the kitchen to get me.  “C’mere…c’mere”, he’d said. 

And I’d turned to follow.

Gravely he scurried ahead, leading the way to the…

to the garbage can.  Where he stopped, pulled up the automatic lid with his right hand, pointed to the foil-like wrapper sinning sitting on top and interrogated, “Did you have a piece of chocolate, mommy?”


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