Free Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie We're In Trouble! (The Toad Witch Mysteries Book 2) by Christiana Miller Page A

had a full box of chocolate-frosted sugar squares.”
    “ Had being the operative word. Do you have any idea how bad sugar is for you?”
    “Are you serious? You tossed my cereal?! That’s not fair.”
    “It’s the Time of Misrule. Time to turn your eating habits on their heads.”
    “No, it’s not. Wrong on both counts. You’re fucking with the schedule, like you’re fucking with my food. Misrule is the twelve days after Christmas, not the twelve days before Yule.”
    “I’m a witch, dear heart. Which means, if I want to bring the spirit of Misrule into play before Yule, I can.”
    I snorted. “You can try . Doesn’t mean it’ll work. There has to be a rule against moving holidays around to suit your whims.”
    “Rules are for sycamores. Witches are rebels and rule-breakers. Witches have ethics, not rules. And my ethics are fine with me moving it to any time between Samhain and Imbolc. If the Catholic church can demote saints, I can move Misrule to a more convenient date.”
    “Seeing as how freaking bossy you’re getting, we should call this the Time of Gus’s Rule instead of Misrule.”
    “I’m okay with that. In fact, I like it. Welcome to the Time of Gus’s Rule. Get used to doing what I say. And what I say is… your diet is the first thing on the chopping block.”
    I rolled my eyes. “I’ve been trying to eat healthier.”
    “Not much,” he snorted.
    “This is Sunday. Whatever happened to ‘eat-anything-you-want’ Sundays? And I didn’t make that up. It was in that article you gave me.”
    “You’ll thank me when you don’t have gestational diabetes.”
     
    While Gus checked on the spinach, I tried to get in the refrigerator, but he was quicker.
    He moved me aside. “Excuse me, Chef working here. This fridge isn’t big enough for the both of us,” he said, digging through the shelves.
    A rumbly growl sounded from my midsection. “My stomach is lodging a formal complaint. If I can’t have food now, I’m going to start gnawing on the furniture.”
    “At least you’ll be getting some fiber.”
    “Gus!”
    “Tell your stomach to chill. I’m a little busy.”
    “I haven’t eaten anything since last night. Move over and let me at the food or I’m not going to be responsible for what happens to you.”
    “You should have woken up while it was still morning. The breakfast bar is closed.”
    “Cut me some slack. I’m growing a baby. It’s tiring and hungry work.”
    Gus was still shifting ingredients around.
    “What are the odds of me getting lunch out of that fridge, before I knock you unconscious and toss you on the barbecue?”
    “Depends on whether or not you want a sandwich.”
    “Gus! Don’t tell me you threw out the bread!”
    “Flour is the new sugar.” He handed me a bag of baby carrots.
    I wrinkled my nose. “Unless these are made of weird-looking Twinkies dipped in orange frosting, I’ll take option B.”
    “You keep feeding that baby your normal Frankenwheat, partially-hydrogenated, high-fructose corn syrup diet and you’re going to give birth to a Twinkie. Obviously, I didn’t come home soon enough.”
     
    Ever since we found out I was pregnant, Gus had been e-mailing me articles on the evils of carbohydrates, sugar and gluten. I dutifully downloaded them into a folder on my computer. I just hadn’t read them.
    I bit into a carrot. It wasn’t half-bad. Sweet and crunchy. “I can’t live on carrots.”
    “Here, diversify,” Gus said, tossing me an orange.
    “This is cruel and unusual punishment. Humans weren’t meant to live on fruits and vegetables alone.”
    He snorted. “Deal with it.” But he went back in the fridge and pulled out a leftover piece of salmon from his dinner date with Forrest.
    I was going to turn it down, but my stomach growled and the baby practically reached out for it on her own.
    “Don’t forget to chew,” Gus said.
    I consciously slowed down my eating. But, wow, did this baby like fish. Salmon and cream-of-spinach