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Get your feet wet

Post-coital cooing

Him: “Oww! Ow! My ass!”
Me: “What? Grab your ass?”
Him: “Cramp! Ass cramp!”
“So get off me! Stretch it out!”
“Shit! Dammit! You need anything?”
“Hand towel?”
“Fuck! Can’t… make it… to bathroom!”
“Just hand me something out of one of those bags — it’s old baby clothes I’m donating.”
(Rummages through bags.) “Here!”
Me: “Ohhh, not this one! I loved her in this one!”
(Grumbles, hands me something else.)
Me: “Nah, this is a sweater. Who taught you about absorbency?”
(Push him aside, dig through bag, pull up six inches of fabric.)
Him: “No, not that one! That one was my favorite!!”

Because since having children, even mopping up the bodily fluids devolves into sentimentalizing a onesie we’re GETTING RID OF ANYWAY.

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