“I did not eat the chocolate!” My five year old insists, brown smudges decorating his face and hands.
“Are you sure?” I question, my eyes pointing at his conscience, trying to pierce his resolve.
His smile is wide; little white baby teeth dirty with his lie.
“I’m totally sure, mom. Totally!” He brings his face of evidence near mine and even though he smells delicious and looks delicious, I push him back a little. I don’t want chocolate on my shirt. It’s only 8am. I try to wait until at least 9am, once I am out of the house and in public to get stained.
His mouth is sticking to his story but his eyes, as always, twinkle with mischief. They speak the truth. He knows I know. If he knew how to wink, he would.
“So, how did you get all that chocolate on your face,” I ask.
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