"So, when I leave boxes full of misc. work crap in the back of yr Jeep for a long time, (Ed note: just under two months isn't really that long, non?) what happens?"
"What do you mean, what happens?"
"I mean: what happens? Besides the boxes being a giant nuisance and me being apathetic about bringing them into work, because it's hot and sweaty out and I don't want to carry a big box of binders half a block to my office, and I'm lazy and I kind of forget they are even back there. What actually happens to the car? Anything?"
"Um."
"Nothing BAD, right? Nothing BAD happpens to the car."
"Right."
"So, say someone (Ed note: "that someone being YOU"), in passive-aggressive retaliation, leaves stuff in the back of MY car, what happens?"
"Um"
"You'd think nothing BAD would happen, right? Like how nothing BAD happens to your car when I leave a box of binders in there?"
"Right."
"Maybe you should go look in the back of my car."
"Maybe you should just tell me what's up."
"Maybe you left a Costco-size jug of laundry detergent in there, a jug I couldn't see, because it had tipped behind a Costco-size pallet of paper towels, and then proceeded to leak all over my back seat and now the rHonda's back bench is bright blue. Maybe that happened"
"I bet it smells better."
"I will kill you in your sleep."
"Let's talk about how you left a frozen pizza in my car last week and I just found it."
". . ."
". . ."
"fair enough. high five."
* * *
In other news, during our suburban drive last night, the G.p. and I made major progress on new business cards for ourselves. They'll have the PIFF blog url and our names, and our titles will be Vice Presidents of Hey. Is That Temp Supposed to be Here, Eating That Sandwich? Doesn't He Know That Catering is for the Biz Dev Meeting on the Third Floor?
Sigh. Friday.
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6 comments:
I don't see how this can be anything but YOUR fault. YOU asked me to buy detergent. YOU drive YOUR car everyday to YOUR house where you can get the detergent out and take into YOUR basement to do YOUR laundry.
I don't drive MY car to YOUR office to get rid of YOUR crap.
You only noticed the leak after I moved YOUR binders out of MY car into YOUR car so I had room to put MY crutches because I am a worthless gimp.
i nver asked you to buy laundry detergent. WHY MUST YOU MAKE OUR HOME A HOUSE OF LIES.
oh right.
THAT'S BECAUSE YOU NEVER DO THE LAUNDRY.
it's your turn to explain to the dog why mommy and daddy don't love each other anymore. then he'll have nightmares probably about gettin eaten by an alligator.
Not to interrupt your domestic tranquility, but in re: PIFFB -- I've got pictures of driftwood shaped like horses from my mom. Let's talk.
tom. please email.
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