My (Future) Brother-in-Law, hereafter and forever known as Trini, is an asshole. "Why is he an asshole?" you might ask yourself. He's exceptionally friendly, he treats my sister well, he's generous with his money and is happy to buy you a beer, he's practically raising his Aunt's kids, so why on God's green earth would you call that poor man an asshole? Because it's true.
I would know. I was there.
My sister doesn't DO floors. So Trini does them. He polishes them to a fine, high shine.
"Now how would that possibly make him an asshole? I wish I had myself a man who was willing to do floors."
You want to know WHY that man is willing to do the floors? Because of the aftermath. His floors are so slippery people have been known to fall down on them while STANDING STILL!, much less running away from a would be attacker as was my situation. I was BAREFOOT. My left foot hitting that floor reacted much like the shady side of a hill after a snowstorm. The right foot however, remained where it was, safely planted on the carpet and not budging an inch as my no so flexible ass did a split only to bash (see: possibly break and maim) toes and bruise a knee.
And all the while Man Friend and Tiff are leaning over me asking if I'm alright and doing a damn good job of stiffling their own laughter, Trini is over on the couch laughing so hard his face is red (quite a feat, let me tell you). Now I'm occassionally hobbling around and I'm pretty well convinced I broke my foot. Not anything serious. I mean it doesn't hurt so much as annoy, but it's the same feeling I got when I fractured my hand (and dad didn't believe me for a week).
Man Friend prefers to think it was this accident that caused the suspect fracturing since the other accident involved his knee and he doesn't like the idea of breaking me.
(DISCLAIMER: Trini is FULLY aware his floor does this. It is why he waxes it like that. He even waxed it SPECIFICALLY FOR US TO COME VISIT knowing there would be alcohol consumed -- though I hadn't been drinking when this little incident occured. Bastard.)
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2 comments:
This is why I am the (not dorky) blogger and you, my darling Man Friend, are not. You have to spread these things out.
I PROMISE to crop dust you later.
I am glad you guys had fun!
The moral of the story: Never trust a man who WANTS to do the floors! (For christ sake, the cat can't even stand on it to eat and she is way more graceful than either of us!)
Crop dust on!
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