Laura is, by her own admission, “a bit messy.” That messiness manifested itself a bit painfully the other day. As I walked out of our bedroom closet with a hamper full of laundry, I stepped squarely on the upright prongs of the plug of her straightening iron.
“Gosh darn it,” I yelled, dropping the hamper and hopping around the bathroom on one foot.
“What happened,” Laura asked.
“I stepped on the prongs of your hair iron plug, and I’m pretty sure it drew blood.”
“You didn’t bend the prong, did you?”
I stopped hopping just long enough to give her a sideways look.
“Oh what, too soon?”