Sunday, February 11, 2007

It's My Own Dang Fault

Scene: I'm sore and can't (easily) climb stairs. Hubby hurt his back and shoulder and can't (easily) climb stairs. We'd run out of toilet paper in the downstairs bathroom. But I know we have new rolls in their packaging in the upstairs bathroom.

Sweetie, can you do me a favor?

What, Mom?

Go to the upstairs bathroom. There's a few rolls of toilet paper on the bathroom floor. Please bring down one roll of toilet paper.

Okay, Mom. (pitter patter to the bathroom... pitter patter back to the top of the stairs)

A whole roll of toilet paper, Mom?

Yes, a whole roll from the bathroom, please.

Okay. (pitter patter to.... pitter patter back....)

Does Daddy need to blowing his nose?

No. It's not for Daddy. I need a roll of toilet paper so I can put it in the downstairs bathroom.

Okay. (pitter patter to.... about a minute or so passes, then pitter patter back).

Is this what you meant, Mommy? (as she's walking down the stairs with her find).

Ugh. No. Not exactly.

Luckily, Hubby was able to salvage the TP and, after about 10 minutes reconstruction, we finally had TP in the downstairs bathroom.

Thanks, Sweetie. You're a big.... help?....

Anyway, you sure are somethin'.

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