He declared the food fight officially over after a particularly violent ambush left Daniel with a fruit loop up his nose. Whoops. The kitchen looks like a talking toucan exploded in it, there is fruit loop shrapnel all over everything, in the plants, in my ears, my hair is candy-coated and the box on the table is empty now.
Daniel started sweeping up while I started trying to clean up from breakfast. He failed to notice when I put the milk away I found the perfect ammunition-a leftover juicebox that was open but still full, because sometimes I grab one when I'm on the go. No one else likes them. I don't like them either. I would have thrown this one out in a week or so.
I rose up from behind the fridge door and let loose all over him, squeezing the box as hard as I could. He screamed, running around trying to block the spray, finally taking cover near my laptop, threatening to hug it close and get it all sticky and possibly ruin it forever.
So I did what any self-respecting outlaw girl would do. I dropped the box, put my hands up and surrendered. I give up. You win.
It's not over, though.
Not by a long shot.
