THE SCENE: 6am, our master bathroom. T is in the shower, I am blow-drying my hair, and the radio is on. The cats are probably climbing in the sink/on the toilet, because That Is What They Do.
T: *from shower* I have a problem.
Me: Oh? What is it, my dearest, love of my life? (It is possible I'm paraphrasing some here. Or, you know, flat out making it up. Work with me.)
T: My poop is really loose.
Me: ...huh?
T: My poop is loose.
Me: ...
T: It's all falling apart and just not right.
Me: ...
T: I struggle with it every time I'm in the shower. It's really hard to, like, get clean.
Me: !!!...? I...are you telling me you have diarrhea? IN THE SHOWER?
T: ...I said POUF. POUFFFFFF. With an "f'. My loofah. That I wash with. It is loose and falling apart.
Me: OH!
T: ...
Me: That would have been a lot funnier if it were really about poop.
T: I love you.
FIN
