Years ago, while chatting with my boss, I pointed out that he had a stain on the shoulder of his shirt. He shrugged that shoulder, sniffed it and said, ‘Oh yeah, one of the kids barfed on me this morning.’
This is a pretty together dude. I remember wondering if he were heading on some sort of vomit splashed downward spiral. I mean, what could be happening that would keep you from changing your spew stained shirt?
I thought of this yesterday when my girlfriend said that her little one had peed on her sheets and she might wash them.
‘Was there a LOT of pee?’ I asked
‘No, hardly any. Not to mention the fact that I JUST changed the sheets.’
‘Well then, screw that.’
I now understand why buddy didn’t change his shirt. When you have a kid, your stuff is reduced to acting as quarry for liquid projectiles. You can’t keep everything clean all the time. You have to quantify the ratio of your stuff that’s glop covered to not and hope for a reasonable percentage of cleanliness. They’re just going to puke on it again anyway.
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