The Task of Doom

The sounds of retching stumbled their way up stairs to the first floor.

Spasmodic.

Violent.

Disturbing.

The disembodied voice of my husband, laden with concern filtered its way back down.

“What are you doing? Are you okay?”

*retch*

“Just …*retch* just doing the *retch* kitty *retch* litter tr*retch*ay,” I managed to answer.

I must state, at this point, his raucous laughter was most unappreciated.

I have also made the decision to forbid both the older two of my offspring to have sleepovers – nay,

2 Replies to “The Task of Doom”

  1. Yeah, I am the family shit-mistress. Dogs, kids, what-fucking-ever. If something shits somewhere, you can bet your arse I’m the one who has to clean it up. *sigh*

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