The Wand of Life removed the tamale pie in its ruddy earthenware casserole from the oven, placed it on a crocheted potholder at the center of the mahogany table, and admired the heat-glazed golden amber color of the cornmeal topping.
“Kids! Dinner!” she called.
“I don’t want any! I ate four boxes of Milk Duds today, so I can’t eat again until Thursday! Leave me alone!” came from off in one direction.
“I smell tamale pie! I hate tamale pie! You know I only eat candy corn and honey!” came from off in another direction.
“Good. All for me then,” muttered the Wand of Life, and she tapped the table, sending sparkle spangles whooshing around in a whirl.
The casserole gleamed dull empty, licked clean.