“What are you doing?” the Captain of my Snack Wagon sauntered into the kitchen and leaned against the refrigerator, arms crossed and eyebrows raised.
“Thank you for the update. I’ll check the Mayan calendar to make sure they’re on track.”
“Those Mayans were pretty clever. They developed a language so they could make notes.” I stood on tiptoe to look in the snack cupboard. Something was missing.
He grinned. “The Mayan culture lasted centuries because they could jot down a grocery list? I must have missed that in the history books.”
“That’s because you’re not a planner. You may have 5,000 different kinds of screwdrivers in your toolbox, but you’re not into Emergency Preparedness Training.”
“And what sort of culture shock is coming up that I need to find a bigger hammer for?”
I rattled around in the pantry shuffling cans and jars, and came out with a bag of powdery doughnuts and a six-pack of chocolate drinks. “School starts next week. Have you seen what happens to the kitchen at 3:00 if there’s nothing to eat when the kids come home?”
“Oh, I get it,” he said, pulling the crinkly paper off a small cake. “Sometimes it takes a Ho Ho to hit the nail on the head.”