During the course of my work day, someone will inevitably ask how my evening was.
Do I tell the truth? Do they REALLY want to know?
Do I say, “Crappy. We were sitting at the kitchen table, eating fantastic homemade butternut squash chowder and French bread, when Gracie projectile vomited on me. It was great. I could identify the bits of fruit she ate for lunch. I think she needs to learn how to chew better.”?
Or do I say, “It was fine, how was yours?”?
I know the answer is number two, but still, the memory is still to fresh. The smell of puke is still in my nostrils. I even re-ran the washing machine this morning because I swear I could still smell the funk in the machine.
The one good thing about it was during my scrubbing of the tile on our floor, I realized how dirty it is. The cleaning lady HAS NOT been doing her job. Which means that it will soon become my job again.
OK, maybe that wasn't a good discovery. Ignorance is sometimes bliss. Especially when it means I don't have to vacuum or dust.
At least we will be spending $100 less a month.