I came home to find that I had won our latest Mexican Standoff. The dishes were done (sweet joy!), but there was a small debris pile on the counter by the stove.
“Dude!” I called to hubby from the kitchen (after thanking the man for backing down first – of course). “You can’t have broken two cups doing the dishes once. That’s a statistical impossibility!”
“Not when you drop one cup on the other one. Oh, and we need new dish gloves too – one of the fingers ripped open.”
Sound logic, sure, but the man had no explanation for his forth casualty; discovered the next day, when I was only three inches away from slicing my lip open on its splintered glass rim.
Well, I suppose I now know why it’s always the bull in the china shop, and never the steer – statistically speaking…