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"Dad! Mom is making a butt cake!"
At the sound of his young son's voice, Leon looked up from the wreath he was repairing. The damn thing had fallen off the front door again and damaged some of the glued on ornaments.
"She what-?" he started to ask before her heard his wife pipe up from the kitchen.
"No! Bundt cake! Bundt! There's an 'n' in there!" She yelled in exasperation.
"Ohhh..." the six year old said from the other room.
Leon chuckled. "I don't know, Davey. You cut one of those cakes wrong and it kinda looks like a butt-"
Claire stormed out of the kitchen. "Don't you start. He gets his 'humor' from you," she said as she raised her fingers into air quotes.
"My humor is beyond what normal mortals can handle," Leon grinned as he focused back on the wreath. "And it won you over, didn't it?"
Claire clicked her tongue. "Oh, please. I love you in spite of what comes out of your mouth-"
"Mom! The butt cake is on fire!"
"Dammit!" she cried out before dashing back into the lightly smokey kitchen.