Wednesday, February 18, 2015

I know your name is Rita

Me: you having cereal or toast in the morning?
TGB: cereal, why?
Me: almost out of milk and I don't want to drink the last of it if you're going to need it.

She has her cereal this morning and toodles off to work. I get up a couple hours later, pour my cereal into a bowl (Frosted Mini Wheats, bitches!), slice up my banananananana, open the fridge...

FUCK!

There was ever so little milk. Enough to make my cereal moist.

The fun is guessing which square is wet!
This is unsurprising. I am the same guy who emptied the dishwasher last night, went upstairs for something, came back down into the kitchen and told TGB she shouldn't have put my dirty glass in the dishwasher because the dishes in it were clean, then opened said dishwasher and saw it was mostly empty, asked TGB if she emptied the dishwasher as she stared at me dumbfounded shaking her head.

Did I?

Yeah. 

Did I ever tell you I am not allowed to give blood because I may have been exposed to Mad Cow disease?

I've become Denny Crane.

Cereal without milk sucks.