last night, we made some of those pillsbury rolls to go with our dinner.
the kind that come in that exploding tube.
where you have to nervously pull back the paper wrapping and wait for the inevitable.
the kind that, even though i know exactly what will happen, i still stress about.
i feel like buddy, in the movie elf, when he has to test all the jack-in-the-boxes.
you just never know when it's gonna get ya.
talk about anxiety.
i hate those things.
could you tell?
so, when it came time to open up that dang package last night, i called chet into the kitchen to help me.
he likes to help. [most of the time].
he was excited when i told him that if he pulled the paper, the can would 'pop!'.
i showed him exactly what he needed to do, and then i scooted back away from him, and cringed, as i watched him slowly tear the paper.
tear... tear... tear.
nothing.
the tube never popped.
of course it didn't.
i am pretty confident i was being punished for recruiting my 3 year old to do my dirty work.
in the end, i had to go in and push on the can until it burst.
and, even after all that time to mentally prepare, i still jumped.
stupid pillsbury.
