David says if I don’t post this picture, he will. It’s part of his intervention. He wants everyone to know the truth behind my food blogging, healthy-eating facade - The Yummy Mummy lets her kids eat Reddi-Wip out of the can. Gasp!
No really, I can explain...it was my Mom’s fault.
My Mom, God bless her, always has a can of Reddi-Wip in her fridge. If there was a nuclear attack and we had to live in her cellar for a few weeks, there would be seven cans of Reddi-Wip, a half gallon of Ginger Ale and a case of Campbell's Soup waiting for us to give us sustenance. We might be glowing green with radioactivity, but we’ll spend our last days spraying streams of whip cream into each others mouths and trying to gnaw open the soup cans with our teeth.
You don’t have to tell me that Reddi-Wip is chock full of preservatives (and of all things, nitrous oxide - the anesthetic you get in the dentist's office) or that lab rats keel over with cancerous sores every time they are fed the stuff in the lab. I know. I know. But I don’t care because it is just SO. DAMN. GOOD. And since I never buy it for our house, I can only eat it at Mom's and since we were there for Thanksgiving...well, you know the rest. (See? I told you it was her fault)
My mother’s fridge is like my opium den. Every night during our visit, I waited until the kids went to sleep and Mom and David became occupied with the computer or the TV and then I carried out my missions. I snuck to the fridge, found the can, quietly snapped off the lid, tipped back my head and sucked down little foamy mounds of whip cream straight from the can. It was heaven…until it became sickening but by that time, I was hooked and couldn’t stop.
My Mom (with Edie): My Reddi-Wip supplier
And then, I quickly put the top on the can and went back to pretending to act like nothing was going on. That is until the urge to have more whip cream struck again (15 minutes later) and I had to conjure up a reason to go to the kitchen (Anyone want a drink from the kitchen? How about some popcorn...No, I'm happy to do it for you....You sit right still) Mom hasn't noticed yet, but there are wear marks on the carpet between the fridge and the couch.
By the end of the week, I had infected the children.
David walked in the house and found the girls and I seated around the dining room table eating my mother's homemade cupcakes, but really we were just using them as delivery vehicles for mounds of Reddi-Wip, which we squirted on the cake and licked off and then, squirted again and laughed hysterically together, all hopped up on sugar and nitrous oxide.
It was one big crack den until David came in and picked up the can and started reading the list of ingredients and started murmuring things like, "tumors the size of grapefruit" and "St. Jude's Children's Hospital", which really put a damper on the party.
By Friday, the nozzle on the Reddi-Wip had mysteriously broken and there was still cream in the can and no matter how I fiddled with it, it just wouldn't work. I considered writing to Con Agra and complaining (Maybe they'll send me a free can) Then, I turned and saw David watching me from around the corner. A wise cracking grin played at his lips.
The smell of sabotage filled the air.
The orgy is over. We are back in NYC. There's nothing but the four food groups in our fridge. At least I have fond memories. Thanks Mom.