Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Busted Bottles and Fish Guts
"Yeah well," He hands me a wet rag, "at least it doesn't smell funny."
Whipping around, I slam my hands to my hips and give him the stink eye. Last year he left shark guts in the vegetable bin and by the time I got home a funky odor permeated the fridge. I grit my teeth.
"Use your own damn refrigerator." I hiss, turning back to clean the sticky ooze.
Rob shrugs and dissappears into the garage. Several minutes later he returns, holding aloft a frosted six pack of black and tans. "Well," he says, "look what I found in my freezer."
Huh, so that's where I put them.