I Think She’s Trying To Poison Me Again

Last week L’s Mother decided to make cupcakes, but thought the frosting tasted “strange,” and wanted my opinion.  (This sort of thing happens to me more often than I’d care to admit.)

Both the cans of frosting were flavors I didn’t particularly care for, but leaving that aside, I had to admit something seemed indefinably “off” about them.  I couldn’t precisely identify what it was either though, so L’s Mother took a closer look at the cans.

“Oh!” she exclaimed in understanding.  “This one is expired!”  A quick check confirmed this to be true of the second can of frosting as well.

“That’s strange,” I said.  “You just bought them today.”

“No, I didn’t,” L’s Mother said way too casually.  “But I bought them for Valentine’s Day, so I thought they’d still be good.”

Certain facts crystallized and a vague memory of things being pushed into the back of the pantry and forgotten came into focus for me at that exact moment.

“You did,” I sighed as I resisted the urge to claw at my tongue to remove any frosting residue, “the year before last!”

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