Crunchy Pudding

Generally, I like to knock down a sweet, just before bed. But for some reason, my family is intrigued by my late-nite eating habits.

Jawbitch, working on a lecture on her laptop in bed: You know, you are the only person I know who chews pudding.
G-man: I'm sorry. Am I annoying you?
Jawbitch: You better shut your trap or I'm going to knock you out. And throw out the empty cup so the boy doesn't see it and start taking after you.

The next evening, I'm tucking the kids in.

Max: Daddy, did you eat pudding in bed last night?
G-man: Did you see me eat pudding in bed?
GG: I know you ate pudding daddy. Don't pretend that you didn't.
G-man, quizzically: Well, how do you know, if you didn't see me? Did you actually see me eat it? What makes you think I ate it?
Max: Because there was an empty cup on your table last time, and this time there was one in your trash can, and a dirty spoon on your table.
G-man: Just because you found garbage somewhere and fouled utensils somewhere else doesn't mean that it was me. If you didn't see me eat the pudding, how do you really know it was me?
GG: Come on daddy, don't lie.
G-man: I haven't said anything false. Not like you little G, telling your story about how the highlighter "fell" on your shoe and somehow magically left a mark the size of a quarter, as if highlighter ink could rapidly spread across that much surface area during the brief gravitational encounter between the shoe and the pen. That's lying, and easily detected, because it doesn't comport with the facts. And even if I did eat pudding, Mac, what's it to you?
Max: You ate it. I'm telling mommy.

I think I'll be eating late night in the backyard from now on.