Last night while on the phone with a friend, Didgeridoo Boy said, "You don't like going to the grocery store? Man, I love that shit. I go there just to act up and do stupid stuff." I don't think he realized I heard him, but then he looked over and saw me with the GOTCHA expression on my face and left the room.
I shut Foot Foot Kittycat in the linen closet yesterday. Not the first time it had happened, and I'm sure it won't be the last, as she seems to have a sense of when it's not been shut completely. I seem to have a tendency to forget to check if the cat's in the linen closet when I notice the door slightly ajar, and just close it. I also seem to have a tendency to mistake the popping, clawing noises from her attempts to escape as household electrical failures of some form or another, and will spend a good while looking around, sniffing for electrical smoke, before going, "Oh! Hell. Foot Foot.", and letting her out.
More on Foot Foot Kittycat - Didgeridoo Boy has realized that I am honestly, truly, severely allergic to cat dander, and has absorbed it into the core of his being that it is time to do something he really hates the thought of: It is time to give the cat a bath. He's been strategizing for a few days, and plans to lock himself in my bathroom with her and go to town (or hell, depending on how you look at it). He knows I'm useless, as I can't even touch Foot Foot due to severe contact dermatitis. Until now, contact dermatitis never seemed like a blessing.
My project today is figuring out what the hell the black dust that looks like gunpowder or pepper in front of Didgeridoo Boy's bathroom cabinet is. I don't know what he did, but he did something. I do know that I am not touching it, so the dust pan and whisk broom is sitting in Didge's chair. Could be nothing, or it could be something radioactive - remember who we're dealing with.
And, to quote Didgeridoo Boy, "That's all I got."
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