“Who ate the custard that I had kept for making dessert?”, I demanded sternly.
“It wasn’t us, Mommy!”, exclaimed Emma. “It was Timmy, we saw him eat it! Really!”, joined in Ethan. Thus began the babble by my four year-old twins.
“Fine, fine. Stop. Timmy! Come here!”, I called out.
The golden retriever bounded across the hall and sat in front of me, wagging his tail.
“If you ever steal custard or anything from the fridge ever again, I will sell you to our angry neighbours. Do you understand?”, I scolded Timmy. He looked extremely pleased with himself, wagging his tail proudly.
I glanced at the twins. They were staring at Timmy, mouths hanging open, utterly terrified at the possibility.
I turned around and walked, to hide my smile. The custard stains on the t-shirts had unravelled the mystery long before!
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