I have had enough of this. I am doing my homework, which involves solving rational expressions, and let me tell you - there is nothing rational about it. I have been cooped up in my room listening to CNN and doing math for the last two hours, all in the comfort of my boxers. I've done five whole problems so far. I am a genius to the negative second power. I've already let two cups of tea go cold. I rationally decide that I need two hot cups, if I am to get anything done this evening. While it makes no real sense, logically, I feel somewhat rational about it. Hardee har har. Alright, it's a bad pun. Making tea won't help me do my homework, but it will give me a ten-minute break. Good enough. I go to the kitchen and start the water boiling. Dusty and Jaws meet me in the kitchen and follow me around. I have about five minutes to kill. I decide I'll use the bathroom, since I'll probably be in siege with my homework for the next two hours. I head for the bathroom, and Dusty follows me in. Jaws, the smart one, heads elsewhere. One or more ferrets usually notice that I'm heading for the bathroom. It's no use to try to keep them out. I have tried to keep them out, but it's like being the goalie in a game of ferret soccer. They have the better team. If you manage to keep them out, they scratch on the door the entire time you're in there, just to be annoying. It's easier to leave the door open. It is only my wife and I, after all. No need to be modest. I drop my boxers and take a seat. I have not sat down for twenty seconds, when Dusty starts crawling through my boxers. Dusty always takes the opportunity to use my boxers as some sort of portable hammock. He and the others have done this so long that it doesn't even faze me. I used to shoo them away, and even pull my boxers to my knees, but to no avail. I just let them have at it. It's much like the bathroom door situation. They know that eventually I'll give up. I have taken my math book into the bathroom with me. Maybe I can figure this stuff out. I immerse myself in intermediate algebra. I feel tugging and jostling sensations around my ankles as Dusty makes himself comfortable in my boxers, but I pay no mind. I am in deep concentration. Eventually the jostling stops. I start to reach a Zen-like algebraic trance, multiplying polynomials by factors of one in my head to cancel out the fractions, thereby simplifying the equation. Eighteen, huh? So that's how you do it. Take out the (x + 2)'s and solve for x. Simple. Maybe I should do my homework in here. Almost attaining mathematical Zen mastery, I attempt an even harder problem... Suddenly, the teakettle sounds off. The bathroom is only a few feet away from the kitchen, and the loudness of the whistle is startling! This is where it all falls apart. Previously distracted by algebraic immersion, my reflexes cause me to spring up and simultaneously flush the toilet, still holding onto my math book. It is an amazing display of coordination. As I spring up, my boxers tighten between my ankles. Dusty is still comfortably curled up inside of them. What was once a comfortable hammock has now become a slingshot. Dusty flips around and flies six inches into the air, coming down to bounce off my boxers as though they were a miniature trampoline. He lands on the plush bathroom rug, wide-eyed and stunned, but unhurt. I stumble in a panic, trying to figure out where Dusty has landed so I can step around him, but I lose my balance. I fall towards the sink, which is on my right, forcing me to use my right hand to break the fall. Unfortunately, my right hand is also the one holding my math book. I am forced to drop it. I helplessly watch as my math book bounces off the ledge of the sink and falls directly into the toilet. Horrors! I instantaneously reach to grab my book from the swirling water, but doing so puts me into the direct path of the resulting splash. Dusty and I are now doused with semi-polluted toilet water! Mortified, I regain my balance and pluck my book from the toilet bowl. I am thankful that as a child I was taught to flush each and every time. Toilet water drips off my eyebrows and chin. My boxers, still around my ankles, are now soaked in spots. Dusty is no happy camper, himself. He dries himself off by scooting on the bathroom rug. I don't know why it comes to me, but I realize that I can no longer hear the teakettle. Well, that was worth it. I pull up my boxers and head towards the kitchen. There is nothing worse than cold, wet boxers. In the melee, my wife has calmly fixed my tea. She looks at me as I come into the kitchen; my hair and face are still wet, and I am carrying a soggy math book. She doesn't say a word. I follow the wisdom of her silence. Dusty follows me into the kitchen. The kitchen is hardly the place we should be in our unsterilized condition. After partially drying my math book with some paper towels, I grab Dusty and we head to the shower. First, I take the soiled bathroom rug and throw it into the hamper. I then use a dirty towel to dry the floor. Dusty and I take a lukewarm shower. With soap. Anti-bacterial soap. Dusty complains. Hey, you little jackball, I didn't tell you to sleep there. Just stop squiggling, would you? OK, hang on, alreadyë you're almost done. I put Dusty in a towel and roll him around in it. I take him out of the towel and put him on the floor. He shivers a bit, shakes himself, then scampers off indignantly as if this was all MY fault. I bring my teapot back to my room. My homework is still sitting on the table, half done. That's how it's going to stay, too. I have irrational expressions I could make about rational expressions, but I refrain. When I go to school tomorrow, I am going to tell my teacher that the ferrets ate my homework. If he asks me about my math book, I'll tell him that they ate that, too. I will offer no further explanation. I wouldn't know how. I put on fresh boxers and sit down to watch New Orleans on CNN. They are doing a segment on Plaquemines Parish. Some poor gentleman is showing CNN his home, still flooded after all this time. He goes from room to room, wading through the disgusting water to give the reporter a tour of what used to be his home. I pour myself a cup of hot tea and raise it up to him in an impromptu toast. Here's to you, sir. I don't know anything about hurricanes or failed levees, but I do know a bit about mishaps with contaminated water. Cheers. Roary Albuquerque, NM blog - http://ferretphilosophy.blogspot.com [Posted in FML issue 5015]