“Are you a giant snail, Lump?” I called out, and tried to stifle a snort by sticking my finger up my nose.
The lump squiggled in place, crawling around under the blanket, and I laughed aloud. Couldn’t help it.
“You’re contagious, Lump! I think... I’ve... caught you!”
I squeezed a little shoeless foot through the bedcover, and got a bright happy little giggle from the lump for my effort before it whuffed and snuggled against my side.
Seeing my opening, I heaved a sigh and said, “So, Lump. We don’t want you suffocating under there. How about you come out now and tell me if they fed you the good stuff for breakfast or one of those creepy shredded cardboard things that they dust with powdered sugar and lie to you right on the box about?”
The lump stopped moving; I stopped smiling.
“What’s suffercatering mean?” Maggie asked, backing out of the bathroom. “Daddy is there someone here?” Her tiny voice raised an octave as she looked at me. There was a red piece of puffed popcorn in her hair.
My mental manscream raised about ninety dead people and a frilly skirt.