Mr. Masters (Mr. 1)

“I enrolled us both in golf lessons.”

“What?” She shrieks. “I’m not doing golf lessons with you. You’re so embarrassing.” She stays silent for a moment. “Probably run over somebody or something,” she mutters under her breath.

I smile because I knew she was going to say that. “Okay, I won’t come, but you start next Wednesday.” I was never really enrolled anyway.

She twists her lips as she looks out the window, and I know that, even though she will never admit it, she’s kind of happy about it.

I grip the steering wheel and pretend to drive really fast. “Let’s get home and get our cooking on, baby,” I say in a French accent.

She rolls her eyes in disgust. “Oh God, make it stop.”

“You see this?” I bring my ball of dough back to me and then forward again. “You knead it across the bench.”

The children concentrate as they watch me, both of them kneading their dough.

Willow’s is sticking to the counter.

“You need some more flour,” I tell her.

She dips her hand in the jar and puts the minuscule amount onto the counter.

“Not like that,” I say. “Get a whole handful. Get into it woman. There isn’t a flour shortage.”

I dig my hand into the jar and grab a big handful of flour and throw it across the counter. A little falls on the floor.

“You’re getting it everywhere,” she snaps.

I smile, pick my hand up, and I blow a little puff of flour into the air.

“Stop it,” she snaps as she concentrates on her dough.

Sammy’s dough begins to stick, so Willow grabs a huge handful and throws it across the counter, watching as it goes all over me.

My mouth falls open in surprise as I look down at myself.

She smiles goofily. “Oops.”

“Do that again and I’m going to crack an egg over your head.” I smirk as I continue to knead.

Her eyes dance with delight, and she puts her hand into the jar, throws a handful of flour across the counter, and watches as it goes all over me again.

“Right, that’s it.” I pick up an egg and Sammy squeals.

"You wouldn't." She gasps.

“Oh… I think I would.” I crack it over her head and it drips down her face.

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“Ahh!” she screeches. “I can’t believe you just did that.”

“Believe it, sister.”

She picks up and egg and pelts it at me, smashing it straight into my chest.

“No,” Sammy yells excitedly, and we both turn to him.

“Get him,” I say.