I was like, "I have tissues here..." and The Boy snapped that he'd asked for paper towel, not tissue, and I was like "Jeez, how many plies do you need?" I figured he must be standing by the fridge cupping a double handful of nose-custard, afraid to move lest it begin to cascade through his fingers.
|"Just BRING ME PAPER TOWEL dammit!!!!"|
What had actually happened, though, was this:
The Boy went into the kitchen to wash his hands. He paused to sneeze into his sleeve, and it was a forceful enough sneeze that it motivated him to exclaim out loud, but the snot factor was negligible. He then finished washing his hands, realized there was nothing to dry them on, and couldn't figure out why I was acting all skeeved out and offering him Kleenexes that would only have coated his wet hands in lint.
The Boy is next to me right now, watching me type this. He says the perfect ending to that anecdote would be if he'd come in and wiped his wet hands on my face. I think the perfect ending would be for him to have come into the room and done a spontaneous striptease for me...but then again his stripteases are my answer to everything...
|...Whether he feels like it or not.|