Harold snickered as he mixed the white ex-lax into the vanilla pudding. This should do the trick.
With a final smile, he set the spoon aside and carried the bowl into the next room.
“Here you go. Just like mom used to make.”
Peter eyed him from over his paper. “You know I can’t have sweets.”
“Neither can I. That hasn’t stopped us before.”
Grunting, Peter set his paper aside and reached for the bowl. “You’re not still pissed at me for telling Grace about you wetting the bed, are you?”
Harold waved a hand. “Nah, I don’t hold grudges.”