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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,

“What?”

“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

100 Words On Saturday

 

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