“Are you sure these are nachos?” Jack questioned, turning his plate around and leaning in to observe at eye level the tortilla chips topped with a stingy smattering of shredded cheese.
“Yup,” I replied slamming the microwave door shut. “Nachos.”
Jack was unconvinced. “It sure doesn’t look like nachos,” he insisted, poking gingerly at the dish’s edge as if expecting retaliation.
“Well…it’s what your nachos look like, so just eat it.”
Of all the tasks of motherhood, I find short-order cook the most challenging.
i think that would drive me nuts!!