“What the hell are you doing with your coffee upstairs?” I asked him, incredulous. Thursday is spring cleaning day. When I cleaned out the computer room I noticed someone has been swimming in coffee up here.
“Nothing. What?”
“The coffee spills all over upstairs. It‘s like you‘re flinging coffee around.” I realize I can be oblique but it pisses me off when people don’t know what I’m talking about. We’re always translating for each other. No. Scratch that. I’m always translating for both of us. So sometimes I translate in such a way that we’re fighting. Breaks up the monotony.
“What? I only remember the one spill.”
“Well that’s sorta my point. ‘Cause if I spill something I clean it up and I don’t have to remember to go back.”
“No more drinking upstairs!” he declared as if that settled things nicely. I mean. He’s only thinking of me.
“Uh. Yeah no. I’m a grown up and I’ll drink where I want to. It’s one of the top three reasons to be a grown up. 1. Have sex when you want. 2. Eat and drink when and where you want. And 3. Sleep when you want. I’m keeping the one I have. Besides - I don‘t spill. You spill.”
“FIIIIIIINe. No drinking upstairs FOR ME” he exaggerates his tone and I feel like a giant ass and I realize how little I give a shit about it.
“I don’t care. I’m just saying I don’t think I can get the coffee out of the carpet. So. Whatever.”
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