Monday, September 7, 2009

Nailed in Nantucket

This story comes from a friend of a friend and her recent experience with her hubby's fine hygiene.

One day, I spent hours cleaning the wood floors to a shine, finally got rid of every speck of dust and all the dust bunnies that kept reproducing. My husband came home after work and of course didn't notice, but that didn't bother me. In the middle of the night I woke up thirsty so I went downstairs to get a glass of water. As I was walking across my newly sparkling wood floors in the dark, I kept stepping on little poky stuff all across the floor. I assumed the dog had chewed apart one of her many toys. Aggravated, I stepped across the crunchy floor to flip on the light. Spread around was an array of little white pieces. As I bent down for a closer look, I realized they were...*gasp* toenails. Apparently, my husband didn't think to cut his nails over a trash can or even to sweep them off the floor. Needless to say, he was given a good talking to.

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