Alright, buckle up, because what you’re about to read is a wild ride through the ridiculousness of biscuit wars. You think you’ve had your fair share of snack time drama? Wait till you see how Norman and Hazel turn a simple tin of biscuits into the ultimate battle of wits, mischief, and plenty of crumbs. Grab your favorite snack—you might need it after this!

 

The Great Biscuit Heist

The Biscuit Bandit Strikes Again

The morning had barely begun, and Norman had already set his plan into motion. He’d been eyeing the last tin of biscuits for days. Hazel, his younger sister, had claimed them as her own, and he wasn’t about to let that happen. The biscuits were perfectly golden, fresh, and just the right amount of crispy. He could almost taste them already.

With a deep breath, Norman quietly tiptoed down the hallway toward the kitchen. The house was still eerily silent, and that suited him just fine. He had done this before, plenty of times—well, a couple of times. But this time felt different. This time, he was going to get those biscuits without a hitch.

He reached the kitchen door and paused, scanning the room for any signs of trouble. It was all clear. He pushed the door open slowly, wincing as a small creak echoed through the air. That was always the hardest part—the suspense. Norman took a step, then another. One more step and he’d be there, standing in front of the coveted tin.

The biscuit tin gleamed under the kitchen light, taunting him. His fingers itched to grab it, but he had to be careful. There was one floorboard—just one—that was the dead giveaway. If he stepped on it, Hazel would know, and his biscuit-heist dreams would come crashing down faster than he could say “cookie monster.”

Norman tiptoed around the floorboard, barely breathing. Almost there. His hand was inches away from the tin, when suddenly—

CRACK!

The floorboard betrayed him. Norman’s heart stopped. His eyes shot up, already dreading the confrontation that was sure to come. And there, in the doorway, stood Hazel, arms crossed, looking at him with the same unimpressed expression she always wore when she caught him in the act.

“Really, Norman?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Again?”

Norman froze, biscuits still in hand, and a half-eaten one dangling from his lips. He quickly stuffed it into his mouth, hoping the crumbs wouldn’t betray him. “What? Me?” he mumbled around the biscuit. “I’m just… just making sure everything’s okay in the pantry. You know, for safety reasons.”

Hazel raised an eyebrow. “Safety reasons? Really? You’re going to pull that excuse again? Because, you know, I’m pretty sure the pantry is fine. It’s your crumbs all over the place that are the real hazard.”

Norman tried to look innocent, even though he could feel the biscuit crumbs falling from his chin. He quickly wiped his face with his sleeve. “I was just checking, okay? I wasn’t going to take any,” he lied, though his eyes were glued to the tin.

Hazel stared at him for a moment, then shook her head in exasperation. “Norman, you’ve been eyeing that tin all week. If you were any better at this, I might actually believe you. But you’re terrible at hiding it.”

Norman sighed. “You caught me. I admit it. But come on, Hazel, can you just share the biscuits with me? I mean, you’ve already eaten half of them!”

Hazel’s grin widened. She walked past him toward the pantry and picked up the tin, holding it up high. “You know, Norman, I’ve been thinking. You’ve got a lot of nerve stealing my biscuits, so how about this?” she said, her voice taking on a playful tone. “If you can beat me in a race to the kitchen, I’ll let you have the last one.”

Norman blinked in surprise. “A race? Hazel, seriously?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hazel replied, looking smug. “A race for the last biscuit. It’s only fair, don’t you think?”

Norman couldn’t help but laugh, even though he was already plotting his next move. “Alright, alright. You’re on. But you better watch out, I’ve got some serious speed.”

Hazel just smirked and raised an eyebrow. “Oh, I’m sure you do.”

The two of them lined up by the kitchen door, ready for the race. Norman stretched his legs, mentally preparing himself for the challenge. Sure, Hazel was quicker, but he’d never admit it. He was going to win this one.

“Ready?” Hazel asked, her eyes glinting with mischief.

“Ready,” Norman said, grinning despite himself.

“Go!”

They both sprinted toward the kitchen, the sound of their footsteps echoing through the house. Norman was doing well, even though he felt like his legs were made of jelly. He was so close to reaching the tin, just a few more steps—

SPLAT!

Norman had misjudged the rug in the hallway, and before he knew it, his feet slipped right out from under him. He crashed to the floor in a tangle of limbs and humiliation, while Hazel sailed ahead, crossing the finish line with ease.

Norman groaned, lying flat on the floor. “I was this close!” he grumbled, rubbing his backside.

Hazel, meanwhile, was standing at the kitchen counter, holding the biscuit tin above her head like a trophy. “Better luck next time, Norm,” she said, grinning ear to ear. “Looks like the last biscuit’s all mine.”

Norman lifted his head, a mixture of frustration and amusement in his eyes. “I’m not giving up that easily,” he muttered, slowly getting to his feet. “I’ll get that biscuit, Hazel. You’ll see.”

Hazel just smiled, taking a small bite from the biscuit. “Maybe next time, Norman. Maybe next time.”

As Norman watched her munch on the last biscuit, he knew one thing for sure: this wasn’t over. The battle for the biscuit had only just begun.

 

Hazel’s Sixth Sense

The following morning, Norman woke up with a new sense of purpose. He’d been defeated in the race, but not in spirit. If anything, Hazel’s smug grin as she devoured that last biscuit only fueled his determination. Today, he was going to win, no matter what it took.

He was fully prepared to play the long game now. No more rushing in like an amateur, slipping on rugs or getting distracted by the biscuit tin’s siren call. This time, Norman would be stealthy—like a ninja.

He waited until Hazel had left for her morning jog, as usual. Norman knew this was his window of opportunity. The kitchen was still untouched, the house was quiet, and all he had to do was not mess it up.

He sneaked down the hallway, careful not to step on the rogue floorboard that had betrayed him before. He was now a pro at avoiding it, sliding smoothly around the squeaky spot. He approached the kitchen door and gently turned the knob.

The kitchen was quiet. Too quiet. Norman smiled to himself, thinking this was the perfect moment. He crept to the pantry, and there it was—the biscuit tin, just waiting to be claimed.

His fingers brushed against the tin’s lid when—BAM!

“Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?” Hazel’s voice cut through the silence like a knife.

Norman froze. How? How had she known? He spun around to see Hazel, standing in the doorway, hands on her hips, looking absolutely unamused.

“Really, Norman? I thought I taught you better than this.” Hazel’s smirk was back, and it was more dangerous than ever.

Norman’s mind raced. “How? How did you know?” he asked, incredulous. “I was so quiet, so careful!”

Hazel raised an eyebrow, unfazed. “Norman, you’re never quiet. It’s not about noise. It’s about energy.”

Norman blinked, unsure if he was still asleep. “Energy? What are you, a psychic now?”

“More like a biscuits-pert,” Hazel replied, tossing her hair back like a true professional. “I can sense when you’re up to something. You have the same look on your face every time you try this stunt.”

Norman stared at her in disbelief. “You mean to tell me, you could sense I was trying to steal the biscuits from across the house?”

Hazel smirked. “Exactly. I can feel your biscuit-stealing vibes in the air.”

Norman looked around. The kitchen felt suddenly warmer, almost charged, as if the atmosphere itself was aware of his failure. “That’s… that’s ridiculous.”

Hazel walked over to the counter and grabbed the tin. “Ridiculous or not, I’ve been living with you for years. I know when you’re scheming. And right now, I’m guessing you were planning to sneak in while I was gone, weren’t you?”

Norman crossed his arms, defiant but also slightly embarrassed. “Maybe I was, maybe I wasn’t.”

Hazel raised the tin above her head and shook it slightly, her eyes twinkling. “Well, you know what they say, Norman. You snooze, you lose.”

Norman groaned inwardly. It was like he was facing a wizard, and Hazel had cast the ultimate spell—The Biscuit Sixth Sense.

“You can’t keep doing this, Hazel. One day, you’ll make a mistake. You’ll slip up, and I’ll get those biscuits,” he said, his voice low but determined.

Hazel gave him a mock sympathetic look. “Aww, poor Norman. You really think I’ll slip up? You know what? I’ll make a deal with you.”

Norman raised an eyebrow. “A deal? What kind of deal?”

Hazel grinned. “If you can go an entire week without trying to steal my biscuits, I’ll give you the last one, on the condition that I catch you sneaking around the kitchen no more than three times. But you’ll need to be really sneaky.”

Norman narrowed his eyes, eyeing the tin again. “So you’re saying I have to earn it, huh?”

“Exactly,” Hazel replied. “You get three chances. Make it count.”

Norman sighed, his gaze still fixed on the tin. “Fine. I’ll do it. But when I win, I’ll be taking that tin home with me. And don’t think you can outsmart me.”

Hazel chuckled, holding the tin close to her chest like it was her prized possession. “Oh, Norman. I’m pretty sure I’ll be keeping it, but sure—good luck with that.”

Norman left the kitchen with his head held high, though secretly, his thoughts were a mess of strategies and backup plans. It was official—this had turned into a battle of wills. Hazel might have the sixth sense, but Norman had determination, and that was almost as good.

And so, the war for the biscuits continued. No more races. No more slip-ups. This time, Norman was in it for the long haul.

 

The Great Kitchen Showdown

The week had dragged on like a slow-motion train wreck. Norman, ever the optimist, had promised himself that he could go the entire seven days without trying to steal a single biscuit. But day after day, Hazel’s tin of biscuits sat in the pantry, taunting him. He could practically hear them calling his name, begging him to devour them.

It was on the fifth day of his self-imposed restraint that Norman realized he was really starting to lose it. The urge to sneak a biscuit had become so overpowering that he had started daydreaming about it. He’d catch himself staring at the kitchen, imagining himself opening that tin and hearing the satisfying crunch of a biscuit breaking in half. He was dangerously close to cracking.

Hazel, on the other hand, had noticed the change in Norman. She would catch him looking longingly at the pantry, his eyes glazed over like a dog staring at a bone just out of reach. Every time she passed by the kitchen, Norman would give her an innocent smile and say something casual like, “Oh, I was just… checking the weather.” Yeah, right.

By the sixth day, Norman knew it was time to make his move. He couldn’t last much longer, and Hazel was getting too cocky with her smug little smirks and “you can’t outsmart me” looks. It was time for the final showdown.

Hazel was in her room, listening to music, completely unaware that Norman was about to strike. Norman had spent the last hour setting up his plan, carefully studying the patterns of the house. It was going to take the perfect amount of stealth, precision, and, most importantly, timing. He had three chances left, and he wasn’t going to waste them.

With the stealth of a shadow, Norman entered the kitchen. His heart raced as he slowly opened the pantry door, his fingers trembling as they reached for the biscuit tin. There it was, sitting there innocently, almost mocking him. Norman couldn’t help but grin. This was it. His moment of victory.

Just as he was about to pull the tin out, he heard it. That unmistakable sound. The floorboard. The one floorboard that would always give him away. It creaked loudly, and Norman froze, his heart stopping.

“Gotcha.”

Hazel’s voice rang out from the doorway, causing Norman to jump like a startled cat. He whipped around to find her standing there, arms crossed, looking far too pleased with herself.

Norman’s jaw dropped. “You knew? You knew I was going to do this?”

Hazel smiled smugly. “Norman, you’ve been glaring at that tin for five days straight. You think I wouldn’t notice? I have a sixth sense, remember?”

Norman groaned. “Hazel, this isn’t fair! How do you always know?”

Hazel shrugged, looking utterly unconcerned. “It’s simple. You get this… hungry look on your face whenever you’re near the biscuits. It’s like you turn into a biscuit zombie. I just feel it.”

Norman opened his mouth to argue, but he couldn’t. She was right. He had become obsessed with the tin, like a man possessed. It was almost embarrassing how easily she had caught him again.

“But wait,” Norman said, his brain quickly working on a new plan. “You can’t just keep outsmarting me forever. I’m going to beat you at your own game.”

Hazel raised an eyebrow. “Oh really? And how do you plan to do that?”

Norman grinned wickedly. “I’ve been thinking. If I can’t get the biscuits with speed, I’ll get them with… psychology.”

Hazel blinked, clearly unimpressed. “Psychology? Are you seriously going to try to outwit me with mind games?”

“Exactly,” Norman said, already feeling the thrill of his new strategy. “I’ll make you think you’re winning. You’ll let your guard down, and that’s when I’ll strike.”

Hazel snorted. “You? Outwit me? You’re the one who can’t even sneak past a squeaky floorboard. I’m not buying it.”

Norman’s grin only grew. “Just wait and see.”

The next few days were a mental chess match. Norman started small, sending subtle signals to Hazel that he wasn’t interested in the biscuits anymore. He would compliment her on how delicious they looked, pretend to be too full to eat any, and even offer to do her chores in exchange for a biscuit. His strategy was simple: he was going to make her think he had given up.

Meanwhile, Hazel, ever the sharp one, remained suspicious. Every time Norman did something nice or offered to take out the trash without being asked, she could feel something wasn’t quite right. He was being… too nice. He was acting as if he didn’t want the biscuits. And that? That made her even more wary.

“I don’t trust you,” Hazel said one afternoon, watching Norman closely as he sipped his tea, pretending to be uninterested in the pantry.

“Why don’t you trust me?” Norman asked innocently, fighting the urge to laugh. “I’m just being helpful, that’s all.”

“You’re never helpful unless you’re after something,” Hazel said, narrowing her eyes. “What’s your game, Norman?”

Norman barely suppressed a chuckle. “I’m just trying to make up for all the times I’ve… uh, not been helpful.”

Hazel didn’t buy it. “You’re being too nice. It’s… weird.”

Norman took a deep breath, fighting the urge to laugh. “Alright, alright, you caught me. I’m pretending to be nice, okay? But I’m doing it for a reason.”

Hazel’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? You mean you’re trying to mess with me?”

Norman gave her a sly smile. “Bingo. I’m going to make you think I’ve completely forgotten about the biscuits. Then when you’re least expecting it, I’m going to take them. And you won’t even see it coming.”

Hazel raised an eyebrow, a mixture of amusement and annoyance playing on her face. “Well, if you think I’m just going to sit back and let you steal them, you’re sadly mistaken.”

Norman grinned. “It’s all about the art of distraction, Hazel. And trust me, I’m a master at it.”

The game had officially begun. And Hazel knew, deep down, that Norman was more dangerous than he looked.

 

The Final Crumb

The battle had reached its peak. Norman and Hazel were locked in a fierce psychological war, with every move, every word, every glance, carefully calculated. Norman’s plan had worked almost too well—Hazel had let her guard down, just like he’d hoped. She had started to believe that he was no longer interested in the biscuits. He had played her perfectly.

But just as Norman prepared to make his final move, something unexpected happened. Hazel, sharp as ever, seemed to have figured out his game. It wasn’t a sudden realization—more like the slow drip of suspicion that had finally reached its tipping point.

One afternoon, Norman walked into the kitchen to find Hazel sitting by the window, gazing out at the garden. The biscuit tin, as usual, was sitting innocently on the counter. Norman’s heart raced. This was it. This was his moment.

He’d spent the last few days acting indifferent, pretending to be too busy with work, too full to care, but now, in this silence, the tin called to him like a beacon. All he had to do was make his move—quickly, quietly, and without hesitation.

But as he reached for the tin, a voice broke the silence.

“You know,” Hazel said, her voice calm but with a hint of mischief, “you’ve really outdone yourself this time.”

Norman froze. He hadn’t expected her to say anything. She wasn’t looking at him, still staring out the window, her tone casual. Too casual.

“What do you mean?” he asked, trying to act as though nothing was wrong. He was good at hiding his nerves, after all.

Hazel finally turned to face him, her eyes glinting with that familiar knowing look. “Oh, you know exactly what I mean.”

Norman’s stomach dropped. Had she figured it out? Had she known all along?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said, feigning innocence, his hand still hovering over the tin.

Hazel smiled, but it wasn’t the smug smile he’d come to dread. It was almost… pitying. “You’ve been pretending to be uninterested for days now, Norman. Trying to trick me into thinking you’d given up. But honestly, you’re not nearly as subtle as you think you are.”

Norman’s heart pounded. Was this the end of his plan? Was she about to call him out?

“I—I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he stammered, but it was weak. He could feel the heat creeping up his neck, his cover slipping.

“You don’t have to lie,” Hazel said, getting up from her seat and walking toward him. “I saw it the second you walked in here. You think I wouldn’t notice? I’m the one who knows you best, remember?”

Norman opened his mouth to argue, but there was nothing left to say. She was right. She had always known him better than he knew himself. He couldn’t deny it anymore.

Hazel walked over to the counter, and for a moment, Norman was convinced she was going to grab the tin and taunt him with it. But instead, she simply opened the lid and sighed dramatically. “You really thought you could outsmart me, didn’t you?”

Norman stared at her, feeling like a defeated puppy. “I—I tried. I thought I had you figured out.”

Hazel laughed, but it wasn’t mocking. It was warm, almost affectionate. “Norman, I’ve been in this kitchen long enough to know the rhythm of it. I know when you’re plotting, when you’re distracted, and when you’re about to strike. I’ve been waiting for this moment.”

Norman felt like he was sinking. All his plans, all his moves, had led him to this moment—where Hazel had outwitted him, yet again. He couldn’t believe it. He had given it everything, only to be bested by Hazel’s sixth sense.

Hazel glanced at him, her eyes twinkling with amusement. “You know, I really thought you had me this time. But I guess I’m just too good, huh?”

Norman slumped against the counter, defeated. “Yeah, I guess you are.”

Hazel’s expression softened. She didn’t gloat; instead, she reached over and placed a biscuit in front of him. “You’ve earned it, Norman. You tried. And sometimes that’s enough.”

Norman stared at the biscuit for a moment before slowly picking it up. It wasn’t the victory he had imagined, but it was still… something. He took a bite, the sweet, buttery taste filling his mouth. And, for a moment, it didn’t matter who had won. They had both played the game, and in the end, it was the journey that mattered, not the prize.

“So,” Norman said, swallowing his bite and glancing at Hazel, “how about we call it a draw?”

Hazel raised an eyebrow. “A draw? You think you’re off the hook that easily?”

Norman grinned. “You know what they say, Hazel. A draw is better than a loss.”

Hazel chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re lucky I’m feeling generous today.”

Norman laughed too, knowing full well that this wasn’t the end. There would always be more biscuits, more games, and more mischief. But for now, he was content.

As Norman leaned back, savoring the last crumbs of victory, he couldn’t help but smile. It wasn’t about the biscuits anymore. It was about the fun of the chase, and Hazel—well, she had a way of making everything a little more interesting.

 

So, there you have it. Biscuit wars, battles lost and won, and a couple of laughs along the way. At the end of the day, it’s not about who wins the biscuits—it’s about enjoying the chaos with someone who knows how to keep you on your toes. So, what’s next? More biscuits? You bet.