Mark stood in the middle of his living room, pudding dripping steadily from the tip of his nose.
A thick yellow blanket coated his hair, plastering it flat against his scalp. It hung from his glasses in slow, heavy strands before sliding down his cheeks and beard. His necklace had disappeared beneath the sticky mess, only the chain occasionally glinting through the custard-colored coating.
He sighed. "I knew I shouldn't have answered the door."


Only fifteen minutes earlier, he had been relaxing around the house in an old pair of red lounge pants, debating whether to watch a movie or make dinner. The doorbell rang.
Standing outside were his friends, Dave and Kevin.
Dave held a large stainless-steel mixing bowl.
Kevin held three unopened family-sized tubs of vanilla pudding.
Mark immediately narrowed his eyes. "...No."
"You don't even know what we're here for," Dave protested with an innocent smile.
"Yes I do."
"No, really."
"You've got pudding."
"It's for charity."
Mark folded his arms.
"There is absolutely no charity that involves covering me in pudding."
Kevin looked at Dave. "He's onto us."
Dave shrugged. "Worth a shot."
Before Mark could retreat inside, the two men rushed forward laughing.
"Oh, come on!" Mark shouted. The first bowl hit him squarely on the head. Cold. Shockingly cold. The pudding exploded across his face with an enormous SPLAT, blinding him instantly. "AAGH!" He wiped wildly at his eyes. "You idiots!"
Another bowl arrived a second later. SPLOOSH! This one landed across his shoulders, cascading down his bare chest in thick rivers.
Dave could barely breathe from laughing. "He looks like a giant éclair!"
"I CAN HEAR YOU!"
Kevin opened another container.
"Oh no..."
"Oh yes."
The third wave poured slowly over Mark's head.
Unlike the first two impacts, this one was almost worse because it never seemed to end.
The pudding flowed over his hair...down his ears...across his glasses...under his chin...between his fingers as he tried unsuccessfully to shield himself.
Eventually the bucket was empty.
Silence.
Mark stood there completely motionless.
Pudding dripped from every part of him. A thick strand stretched from his nose before falling onto his stomach with a wet plop. Another slid from his elbow onto the hardwood floor.
The room itself hadn't escaped. Yellow splatters decorated the white closet door behind him. The thermostat had somehow acquired a creamy coating. Even the nearby armchair wore long streaks of vanilla pudding across the armrest.
Dave cautiously cleared his throat. "So..."
Mark slowly removed his glasses. He wiped them with two fingers. Put them back on. Then looked directly at his friends. "You realize," he said with remarkable calm, "that you're cleaning my house."
Kevin looked around. "...Yeah."
"And my couch."
"...Fair."
"And me."
Dave scratched the back of his head. "We did kind of underestimate how much pudding three industrial-sized bowls actually is."
Mark looked down at himself. His red pants were soaked. His chest looked like someone had frosted a cake. Every movement produced another slow cascade of vanilla-colored goo. He couldn't help it.
He started laughing. It began as a chuckle. Then a snort. Within seconds all three men were doubled over with laughter.
It was simply too ridiculous.
Dave finally caught his breath. "Best prank we've ever pulled."
Mark grinned. "Maybe." He reached toward the kitchen counter.
Dave's smile faded. "What are you doing?"
Mark lifted an unopened chocolate pudding cup from the grocery bag they'd left by the door. His grin widened. "Oh..."
Kevin took one step backward. "Oh no."
Mark peeled back the foil lid. "You boys forgot one."
Both pranksters turned and ran.
Mark charged after them, pudding flying from his shoulders with every step, leaving sticky footprints across the hallway as laughter echoed throughout the house. By the end of the afternoon, all three of them were covered from head to toe in a chaotic mixture of vanilla and chocolate pudding--and they all agreed it had been a memorable, if very messy, day.