Bath Time

Me: Bath time, baby.

LS: Can I take a bath in your tub?

Me: (Distracted by Cheetos and Pinterest posts) Sure.

Rubber Ducky, You're the One...

Rubber Ducky, You’re the One…

Me: (nearly an hour later. Sweat has dried in my crack. Armpits smell like rotten garbage) You need to get out of the tub.  Papa will divorce me if he comes home and I’m all stinky.

LS: I don’t think so.

Me: Why not? (now this is a dumb question. She’s got a list.)

LS: Well, first of all, you have an excuse. You just did zumba. If you didn’t have and excuse and came home stinky for no reason, then maybe.

But if he did want a divorce its not because you stink. It’d probably be because you told him he was bald and all his hair went to his back and you were wanting to divorce him. THAT’S why he’d get divorced. Because of that. Because of YOU.

Me: You crack me up, you know it? You’re so literal.

LS: You’ve told me that a million times.

Me: (Says nothing because I’m trying to refrain from eating any of last year’s Cadbury mini eggs that I found under the chair while rolling on the floor laughing my chapped booty off. I don’t think chocolate goes bad, but I gave them up for Lent)

Not nearly enough Woody Guthrie on YouTube, but here’s a version that’s close to his song “Clean-O”

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About oldhwysixwest

I'm currently pursuing a PhD in accounting at LSU. I also write fiction when I can (usually 4 am).
This entry was posted in Catholocism, Children, family, Sports, Uncategorized, Writing and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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