So I was cleaning grout with my son’s toothbrush* — super fun job, BTW — and felt the ceramic tile give a little as I scrubbed.
I leaned in closer and a crack snaked across the giant square. How did THAT happen?! I looked accusingly at the dog who was watching me from the corner of the room; she acted like she didn’t know what I was talking about.
A few hours later my husband and son — whom I would like to point out were golfing while I was on my hands and bum knee scrubbing the floors — came home.
”You’re not going to believe this,” I said. “We have a cracked tile! Look!”
“Oh,” my son said. “Sorry, I think that was me.”
Because the gym is closed, he was weightlifting at home and because our equipment is old and janky, a few 25-pound plates slid off the bar after the metal screw-on thingie loosened.
“I saw that there was a chip, but I didn’t think it actually cracked. My bad.”
And that, my friends, is reason No. 237 that I am tired of lockdown.
*Well I got him a new one.
Bonus: Things that made me laugh this week…
Decor? That dude totally thinks that means HIM. He’s not wrong.
Also, he’s just a smirky look and pointy chin away from being a Ryan Gosling meme. “Hey, girl. I’ll accessorize your backyard. Any. Time.”
The surest sign that we’re all losing valuable brain cells while on quarantine — holiday gnomes are trending in May.