There’s been a mound of clean clothes sitting in Dash and Ruby’s bedroom for a week. I think I actually heard the pile beg me to put it out of its ignominious-heap misery and just put it in the dirty hamper again. (I might have had two glasses of wine that night.) But I was determined to win this fucking battle.
So while I made dinner, I sent D and R upstairs to deal with the (talking) pile. Together. At the same time. Concurrently.
Logical outcome: D farts. R’s olfactory senses offended. R seeks out Febreze to fight rotting smell. D tries to grab can from R and R ends up spraying D. In the eye. With the fucking Febreze.
Cut to Silkwood-style shower scene.
Neighbors probably called protective services.
Motherfucking laundry is still on the floor of the bedroom.
Little fuckers won tonight.