Smitten to Wrinkly

I can't handle the cuteness of this little book.  If I was in any way shape or form skilled at quoting movie lines, I'd throw something in right now about that movie with Jack Nicholson and Tom Cruise.  But I can't even remember the name of the movie...that's how awesome I am at that game.  They were in uniform though, that's in my brain. 

Anyway, I can't handle the cute factor.  It's only about three inches by three inches of solid board book fun with the ever eye pleasing work of Eric Carle.  The simplicity of it is what gets me.  One word.  One picture.  A color.  Not rocket science. 

When I purchased the book, I was grateful it was right next to Little Man's first birthday.  I feel that is an acceptable reason for me to have become smitten with this book.  It would have been much harder to explain had I just been a twenty-seven year old with a wrinkly forehead that likes a three by three inch board book with one word on each page. 

I apologize if it seems I am stuck on the fact that I have a wrinkly forehead, but I know I am not making this up.  Here's the most recent clue.  Last weekend, remember I told you I went to my second cousin's big thirty birthday party?  Well at that party, Momma Debi, the second cousin's mom, myself, and a non-relative chef from Phoenix who co-owns a restaurant here in town with the second cousin's brother {did you get that?} were all sitting in a circle visiting.  Actually I would call it more smushed in a circle visiting.  Chef from Phoenix and I were having a deep moment about the fact I wanted nothing more than to just chop vegetables for them.  I was trying to explain I am pretty fabulous at it and that it makes my heart happy.  Chef kept telling me there is no such thing in the restaurant business as a "Vegetable Chopper" and that it's called a Prep Chef or something like that.  I kept telling him he would want me near nothing else in his kitchen doing any prep work of any kind besides the chopping of the vegetables.  Then it turned into comedic ping pong.  Back and forth and back and forth.  Chef and I arguing about veggies and Phoenix and Sharpies and winter and the desert....and there was speaking of Spanish and German weaved in between.  And Momma Debi was on fire.  Hilarious fire.  Throwing her business in.  Then all of sudden, Chef just reached up with his hand and put it on my forehead while I was talking. 

He was trying to keep my forehead still and non-wrinkly. 

Nice. 

So glad he noticed the issue. 

I just kept talking.  He just kept holding.  It went on for awhile.  My forehead kept on a moving and wrinkling.  It's a lost cause. 

At least he didn't try and hold my arms down while I was talking.  That would have ended ugly.