Hah, Aunt Tricia. Hah. Hah. Hah.

So, tonight after my delectable dinner of chicken-n-stars with carrots and peas (and wee bits of turkey smoked sausage on the side), I was still hungry, so Aunt Lisa gave me some peaches (baby food stuff, you know, in the jar). Anyway, she handed the jar to Aunt Tricia to feed me, so we sat down on the rug in the kitchen and she started spooning it in. Not fast enough.

So, I lunged toward her and told her, basically, to hurry the heck up or lose an arm. I added a little smack on the arm to make my point. She looked at me and (get this!), said, "Hey, little missy, chill out. I'm not your food slave."

I just looked at her in disbelief. Are you kidding me, not my food slave? All I have to say is this, "little missy" Aunt Tricia:

WHO'S EATIN' PEACHES, AND WHO'S GETTIN' SLAPPED?!?

Uh-huh. That's what I THOUGHT you said.