We went out to eat last night with my grandparents, my aunt and uncle, my cousin Liz, and my dad. We let the boys choose whatever they wanted, so Zeeb had fried chicken and french fries, and Calvin had a whole bunch of goldfish crackers with ranch dressing dumped all over them. Mmmmm.

I have an embarrasing weakness for monkey bread. I got a bunch, and tried to get Calvin to try it too. He never does. I just know that after he tries gooey bread covered in caramel, he will love it just as much as his sugar-junkie mother. But he would not.

He asked what it was. There’s this one Calvin and Hobbes where Calvin comes in the kitchen while his mom is making dinner and asks what it is. She says “Monkey brains.” Calvin is so disgusted and intrigued that he ends up eating dinner without complaining. So when my Calvin (yes, that’s the origin of his bloggy name, and if you knew him, it would be even more obvious) asked me what I was trying to get him to sample, I replied, “Monkey brains.”

He looked at it over his root beer float, and said, “It doesn’t look like monkey brains. It doesn’t smell like monkey brains. And it’s definitely not on fire like monkey brains.”