March 18, 2010

Things In His House That Make Me Sad: His Hand-Washed Dishes

I spy with my little eye: the milk you drank yesterday with your the bottom of my glass.

It was sweet to offer me a beer, even if it's 11am on a Sunday. I couldn't resist because you seemed super excited to pour me a frosty libation in a stolen pint glass. So despite feeling like hot garbage after last night's Hasselhoff-esque beer and burger jam session, I'm going to drink this cheap beer with you and even propose a toast for proving last night that you DO in fact know all the words to every song in The Little Mermaid. Bravo.

But, as adorable as you are, I simply cannot choke down a PBR with milk residue floating in it. A quick survey of your sink shows an ancient sponge that--I'm going to assume--smells like rotten Indian food, a bottle of hand lotion that you most likely mistook for soap, and a towel on the stove top serving as your "drying rack." I notice a dishwasher but you tell me it's broken and upon further inspection, I can see a deflated beach ball wedged inside. Fair enough.

At least this problem is easily resolved: I'll pick up a new sponge (or twelve) and a big ass bottle of Palmolive and teach you some moves from the Mary Poppins playbook. We all know how much you love Disney.

But first things first, let's start with a fresh beer. Just the can is fine. Thanks, doll.


Andrew said...

God, it's the details! They simply can't be fabricated. Another fabulous post.

dani said...
This comment has been removed by the author.

Post a Comment