I held a serving bowl of fruit salad in one hand and a serving bowl of Sloppy Joe meat in the other. Now, when I tripped backward over the three-foot-tall mechanical dinosaur, which bowl do you think I would throw like a frisbee in a 135° arc across the house? Do you think it would be the bowl with twenty pieces of easily-fetched fruit? Or do you think it would be the bowl that would make the couch, floor, counters, refrigerator, trashcan (the list goes on and on...) look like they had been privy to a grisly murder?
You know the answer here, right?
Luckily, my in-laws were over for dinner that night (all the more people-to-treat-to-manual-labor-at-your-house-when-you-claim-they-are-"guests" the better, I say). So, everyone grabbed a Clorox wipe/paper towel/mop and got to cleaning. We were pretty effective (and disturbingly sticky) by the time it was all said and done.
The episode was slowly becoming nothing but a nightmarish charming anecdote.
Until.
Today. I threw my head back to take the last drink out of my can of Coke Zero and what should I see?
On the ceiling.*
I feel like MacBeth's wife. "Out damned spot! Out, I say!"
*I tried to take a picture for your viewing pleasure. But, evidently you need specialized CSI equipment for sloppy joe to appear visible on film. Maybe some sloppy joe luminol, too.
