Last night, The Prince asked me why there was a washcloth in the garbage can in the bathroom.
So then I had to tell him this story, which I had originally intended to take to my grave:
"Well, I got in the shower yesterday morning, and I had a fresh washcloth in my hand. Then I noticed the previous day's washcloth hanging in the way, so I chucked it out of the shower, figuring it would land on the floor so I could toss it in the laundry later."
"How'd that go?" asked The Prince, obviously seeing where this was going.
"It didn't land on the floor," I said.
"No? It didn't?"
"No. It landed in the toilet."
"Yeah. I scrambled out of the shower, only that took quite a bit of time because you STILL haven't fixed the shower door, so by the time I got to the washcloth, it was almost entirely drowned in toilet water, save for one last little corner."
"So let me guess what happened next. You grabbed that corner, screamed a little, threw it in the garbage and then dashed back to the shower to disinfect your hand."
"Yeah. I wasn't sure if you heard the scream part because you were still sleeping."
"Oh, I heard it."
"I thought about just flushing it down, but I don't think that would have worked out very well."
"No. Probably not."
"Yeah. So I did the right thing."
"But did you learn anything from this? Like to stop throwing your damn washcloths out of the shower like an animal?"
"I could lie to you, but, honestly, no."
"Are you kidding me?"
"No. I like to live on the edge. If that means some washcloth bitches have to die, so be it."
"WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU THIS WEEK? EVERYTHING YOU DO IS DRIVING ME INSANE!"
"That's called karma, motherfucker."