Super Boy
by Megan M. on November 30, 2006 (Blog) |
Marty steps out of the bathroom, fists on his hips like a superhero. I look up at him curiously from my spot on the couch.
“I did something,” he proclaims.
“Okay,” I say, waiting for him to elaborate.
“C’mere,” he says, “I am proud of something. I want you to see what I did that I’m proud of.”
I’m getting up from the couch and moving towards him, completely gullible, thinking he must have cleaned something or fixed something. “What is it?” I’m asking, made hesitant and paranoid by his lack of explanation.
“I want you to see something I’m proud of,” he says, pulling me towards him and the door of the bathroom. “In the toilet bowl.”
So I go “Huh!?” and pull away, um, “I don’t want to see what you’re proud of in the toilet bowl, let me go!” But he doesn’t let me go and he pulls me through the door and pushes me towards the toilet. I go, horrified of what I am about to see. The bowl comes into view. I look down.
Oh.
“It’s clean!” I shriek delightedly. “Good boy!”
The scrub brush sits nearby, glistening and pleased with itself. Marty beams, preening over his successful ruse.
Thank god for surprises.
Dumbass.
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