Hand on door, one foot out, sudden big exclamation from Chase, who is upstairs with Jordan and a friend.
'OH GROSS, THAT IS SICK, GROSS!' (note the term 'sick' here did not mean 'sick' as in a good thing, which I went over in an earlier blog. This was obviously sick as in not good, bad terrible, awful.)
Pause. I'm thinking that Tank the Pug left a gift on his bed. Or his head.
Based on the racket he was making, it sounded like something awful was up there.
Door still open. Purse in hand, other foot out the door. Should I stay? Should I go?
Do I REALLY want to hear this? I could pretend, they would never know the difference.
Me (I caved): 'What's wrong?'
Chase: 'Jordan's feet WREAK cause he wore shoes with no socks, it's totally gross!'
Didn't Chase just admit to me yesterday that other than the sprinkling of stagnant water from a Six Flags ride, he didn't take a bath for like 3 days?
Sorry Chase, I feel your pain son, I'm goin' to Target.
Remind me to teach you about Karma.
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