So the boy had his good buddy Kellen over to hang out.
(It’s because, according to the movie Diary of a Wimpy Kid, boys their age don’t gather at a friend’s house to play any longer. They hang out. They also wear their backpacks with just one strap slung over a shoulder. Diary of a Wimpy Kid has completely prepared us for junior high school next year.)
(And don’t get me started on all the junior high business, because I will weep the Ugly Cry all over you, because my baby cannot be old enough for THAT yet.)
The boys got down to the business of hanging out, which also happened to be the business of playing spies. Playing spies involves running at break-your-neck speeds through the yards, shooting Nerf darts at one another and yelling your latitude and longitude into walkie-talkies.
And then they came into the kitchen to relieve my pantry of artificially-colored, artificially-flavored, bright-orange cheese crackers, which is also known as the King of All Snacks, unless you offer them a trip through the Dairy Queen’s drive-through.
Which I did not.
And, with bright-orange, fake cheese powder on their faces, they looked at me and said, “Don’t worry, Ma’am; we’re here for your protection.”