scarred

1. The back of my new couch, after meeting with the business end of a green crayon.


Apparently our resident artist felt the need to experiment on a larger canvas.

Fortunately the microfiber fabric lived up to its claims of durability and ease of clean-ability. Well, maybe not "ease", per se, but after an hour or so of dedicated scrubbing at the back of the couch with a paper towel, I'm pleased to report that you'd have to actually look directly at the couch to see where the damage was done. Which is actually a dramatic improvement from the plutonium green glow that captivated your peripherals upon entering the room that we had when we started.

2. My right ear. From burning it on the iron. That I heated up just in case I needed to further melt the wax from the incident above. Unfortunately, the microfiber fabric lived up to its claims etc. and I forgot that I had heated up the iron and placed it nearby to be within easy reaching distance. Or, as it turns out, easy ear burning distance if one were to get so caught up in the relative ease of cleaning said wax off said couch and forget that one had heated up the iron for such a reason as stated above and enthusiastically lean just a little bit further to the right to reeeaaach that little mark over there...

The part that hurts the most is that it's hard to garner sympathy when you tell someone that you burnt your ear on the iron.

3. Possibly LG. Who walked into our bedroom last night while we were, er, snuggling. We won't know for sure what he saw or how much it's going to cost us until he starts therapy for all the other issues that he is going to have to work through as a result of being the fruit of our loins (I get to have loins too, right?). However, I can absolutely say that the pitter-patter of size 2T fire-truck feety pajamas at the doorway is the Bizarro-world equivalent to Viagra. If you don't understand what I'm trying to say, just believe me when I say you don't want to know what I mean, Mom. I sure as hell am not going to explain it any further to you. That's just a conversation we don't need to have.


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1 comment:

Arwen said...

Our 6 year old seems to have some sort of snuggle radar. If we even make googly eyes at each other she wakes up and comes in to visit. I hope this is a phase.