If I hadn’t slid across it and fallen directly on my behind.
“Oh, poopy pants,” I exclaimed as I laid down on the floor, feeling the burn in my butt cheeks.
The boys cracked right up and started laughing hysterically.
Suddenly, Beau was staring down at me. “Jesus, are you okay?” he asked, his face covered in concern.
“Ha, ha, Gigi burned up!” Carson laughed and pointed at me. Then Cooper joined suit.
Beau offered me his hands and I took them, slipping at first. “What’s on your hands?” he asked, grabbing onto me tighter.
“I was in the middle of making buns when the floor turned to lava,” I explained, but he looked at me as though I were crazy.
“Non, Gigi, en français!” Carson yelled as he jumped on the couch.
I let go of Beau’s hands and quickly bounded onto the chair beside me. “I wasn’t calling it. I was only explaining it to your dad. And anyway, he’s the last one on the floor, so I’m safe.”
“Papa is burned up!” Carson laughed even harder at his father’s fate. Cooper and I joined in because Beau really did seem clueless.
“Papa, get off the floor, quick!” Cooper said through his fit of giggles.
“Boys, let this be a lesson to you. Did you see how Gigi fell? Jumping on the furniture is never a good idea,” Beau said, ignoring all warnings of his impending doom.
I gazed down at my socks. “Wrong. Just make sure you take your socks off first. That jump would have been a thing of beauty if I’d stuck the landing. Impossible without bare feet, though.”
After I ripped my socks off, the boys did the same.
Beau placed his hands on his hips. “Are you crazy?” he asked in a low voice, looking me up and down.
“Maybe, but at least I’m not burnt to a crisp like you are,” I said, taking the same stance he was.
The boys fell down on the couch and started laughing all over again. “Gigi, how do you say, Papa is burnt to a crisp en français?”
I answered back immediately, “Papa est brûlé vif.”
Carson and Cooper copied me like little parrots. Of course, they didn’t say it once and let it go.
No.
They said it over and over again while bouncing on the couch and falling down to their bottoms.
Beau’s face finally cracked a smile. “You guys have all lost your minds.” Then he stepped up onto the loveseat.
“Okay, now for real—” I said as I hopped down from the chair, “if you guys are going to keep saying—you know what—then supper is never going to get made.”
“Hmm, I am getting hungry, Coop. Maybe we should do our puzzle ‘til supper’s ready,” I could hear Carson saying to his brother while I made my way to the kitchen.
I washed my hands, then went back to my dough—which was beginning to look a little worse for wear, no thanks to the constant interruptions. “Darnit,” I whispered to myself, adding more flour and praying it would actually rise despite my repeated neglect.
“I paid over ten thousand bucks for that couch,” Beau said, leaning onto the island. I gazed up briefly, but I was more concerned with how to save my dough.
“Congratulations,” I muttered, deciding to try kneading it one more time. If nobody called—you know what—for a few minutes, I might just be able to bring it back to life.
“That’s a lot of money for a piece of furniture.”
“Mm hmm,” I agreed, adding a dusting of flour to the island before I dumped my dough on it.
“Martin, would you look at me?”