The scene: last night in bed. Boobla Khan snoozing away in his crib, me and the Dotytron doing our nightly before-bed reading.
The Dotytron: "AHHHHHHHHHH!!! I think you seriously just almost maimed me with your toenail"
Me: *smug silence*
A few minutes pass, finally, I turn to him and ask, "Can I borrow a nail file?"
The Dotytron: "Which one?"
Note: only in my house, with the Dotytron, would the answer to the question of borrowing a nail file be met with a follow-up, clarifying question as to the TYPE of nail file one requires, instead of a simple, "yes."
The Dotytron: "Well, it matters! What are you using it for?"
Me: "To file my nails, what do you think?"
The Dotytron passes me a nail file and instructs me to use the black part of it, and when I start to go to town on my big toe and he notices, RIPS IT OUT OF MY HAND and tells me in no uncertain terms that this particular nail file is not be sullied and cheapened with use on my foot, of all places. Then he rummages around in his NIGHTSTAND DRAWER FULL OF NAIL FILES OF ALL TYPES AND PERSUASIONS and chucks one at me in an unceremonious fashion with the withering comment, "here, you can use this one on your toe, I don't use that one ever."
LOL. Yet another chronicle in the on-going saga of living with a guy with an unnatural interest in his nails and hand care.
Beef barley mushroom soup for dinner, with either salad or a sandwich.