Why I Can't Have Philosophical Discussions With My Husband
"How, exactly, did you spray Off! into your own mouth?" my husband asked me.
It's a legitimate question, I suppose. Spraying bug spray into anyone's mouth is weird, but in your own mouth? Yeah, that warrants an explanation.
"Sheer natural talent. Obviously," I replied as I spit a mouthful of bug spray into the sink. Hopefully, I looked dignified while rubbing my lips and tongue profusely with a paper towel. It's a hard look to pull off, people.
My husband look amused. "I wish I could refute that, but I can't," he said.
"In my defense, my hands were covered in bacon grease … you're welcome for a bacon dinner by the way ... and I opened the cabinet door to get out something to help with the grease factor and wham! The small bottle of Off! fell out of the cabinet and the nozzle button hit the counter at exactly the right spot. Of course, I was talking, so as soon as the button hit the counter it let loose a colossal spray of Off! and well, I got a mouthful of bug spray. Side note: I can see why this stuff drives bugs away. It is a lot of things, but tasty isn't one of them," I said.
My husband looked thoughtful and then asked, "Is this yet another example of bird poop luck?"
See this? Right here? Is exactly why I don't like to have philosophical discussions with my husband.