I hear the refrigerator door being shut. Footsteps hurry upstairs. My door is pushed open unceremoniously.
“Where is it?” He asks without preamble.
I am prepared. Looking up from my book with that perfect pre-occupied look, I ask,
“The leftover pudding!”
“Ohh! I ate that!” The look on his face is priceless.
“My share too?!!!” There is murder in his voice.
“You said you’d be celebrating some place!”
“But I called to say my plans had changed!”
“Your call came late!” I reply primly.
He kicks the door as he walks out.
Revenge tasted sweeter than Mom’s biscuit pudding.
100 Words On Saturday 11 Prompt: YOUR CALL