Mr. Chez B. was washing dishes in our bathroom sink last night. We must do this because we have no kitchen at the moment, it being gutted and lonely for it's new outfit of cabinets, counters and flooring. Minor stuff, of course.
I was in another room attending to the bills. Mr. B. knows that this is a time to avoid disturbing me, because kissing all of our money good-bye is disturbing enough.
All was placid until I heard the commode flush and him say, "Uh-oh!"
Uh-oh? After a toilet flush? Not good.
Me: "What happened?"
Mr. B, sotto-voce:"Nothing..."
Me: "No, really. What happened?"
Mr. B:"Don't come in here..."
I went in.
He had discarded the dish water down the commode, because the f***ing bath tub is almost a whole extra step away, and flushed a hand-knitted hemp dishcloth down the loo.
Very nice.
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