So it's 5:00 AM and I stumble into the bathroom, led by the toilet-seeking divining rod that I am attached to. As I am walking across the tile in my semi-sleeping state, my foot steps on something. Something small, but hard.
Let me preface by saying, I hate stepping on things. One morning I walked out onto my patio and stepped on an earthworm. My neighbors were not happy with the shrill piercing scream at 5 in the morning let me tell you. Ok so I thought it was a snake. I hate snakes. And earthworms. And things you step on that are wet and slimy. Well okay, things in general.
Anyway, back to the bathroom. Now as soon as my foggy brain made sense of the fact that I had indeed stepped on something, on a floor that should have been relatively clean, a stream of obscenities come flying from my mouth. Well it's better than screaming and much more beneficial to the spirit.
Of course I can't stop to look what it is that I stepped on because Mr. Johnson has only one thing on his one-eyed mind, and that is the toilet in front of him. Picture if you will, being in the front of your toilet, urinating, with something on your foot that may or may not have cut it. You are only half-awake. Of course you do the inevitable. You lift your foot to look. While urinating.
Mmmm-hmmm. Yep. Now the toilet is wet where it shouldn't be. The floor is wet. The sink is wet. The roll of toilet paper is wet. I am wet. The day is not starting off well.
Note to self: just because the BF is cute and handsome and smart and sexy and caring and awesome, does not mean you can't kill him for leaving toenail clippings on the floor which become embedded in your foot when stepped on.
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