Tonight, Weston was getting ready for bed. While I was waiting for him to finish, I was tidying up the bathroom. There was an individual-sized pack of kleenex that had been soaked in the aftermath of the day's activity of mixing water, shaving cream and Avon body paints all over the countertop. I tossed it in the trash, resulting in this:
Weston: Why did you that away?
Me: Well, we try to use things until they're gone, or compost them, or recycle them, but some things we just have to throw away.
Weston (nodding sagely): Yeah, sometimes you can't recycle it or put it in the compost or give it to someone else, and you gotta throw it on the floor, or out the door.
Me: Like what?
Weston: A dead cat.
So, if you come to visit, watch where you step, and don't let the dead cat hit you in the ass on the way out.
What did I even write?
1 day ago