Well, I prefer to eat my crow medium rare, and I am eating a big ole plate
of it.  It all started with a stopped up commode.  A few hours with a
plunger later and suddenly whatever was in there went through and all was
well.  Two days later, same issue but the plunger seemingly lost it's
effectiveness.  If you've never ripped up a commode to look in it from the
other end, you are blessed.  What I found was a wealth of qtips in various
stages of decay creating a little dam (or is that damn) with toilet paper
reinforcement, well I found more than that but I'll spare you.  Not
pleasant!
 
And the ranting began.  "Honey, why on earth would you put qtips in the
commode?"  I inquired, a hint of righteous indignation creeping into my
voice.  Shocked denial, and looks of innocence fanned the flames into
imperious superior male logic, as I said, "well only two of us in this
house and I am damn sure I didn't put them in there."  Yes, my maleness
had taken over my mouth and my brain immediately shut down.  I'll spare
you the gory details, but I'm going to carpet that doghouse in case I find
myself sleeping in there again, maybe a skylight and hottub.
 
Flash forward two days, I'm once again sleeping inside the house, but not
yet fully forgiven.  As I get out of the shower I chuckle at angels attempt
to dry my foot.  Reaching for a qtip, I dry the water from my ears and
discard it into the trash.  To my amazement, Angel immediately runs to the
wastebasket, retrieves the soiled qtip and deposits it in the commode.
Again my maleness overran my brain as I reached for another qtip and I
heard my mouth say, "Hey Babe, come look, you won't believe this."
 
Would someone pass the salt and pepper please.
 
Tickletacklehugglepounce
Christopher & Angel & Buddy & Buffy & Rico
[Posted in FML issue 3307]