Last night I was making dinner, and Dan was scrubbing our shower/tub because it was his turn to do so.
Scrubbing the shower/tub is a chore we both loathe, so that's why we split it 50/50 (or 70/30 in favour of me. Or 80/20. Or maybe it's more like 90/10? Okay fine! It's more like 98/2). Anyhow, we (he) give(s) it a good scrub and then we try to ignore the porcelain beast for as long as possible until we realize it's time to scrub it again because there remains no more chance of slipping on the not-so-shiny surface.
As I was pounding out chicken breasts, Dan came into the kitchen with one of my scarves wrapped military-style around his nose and mouth.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Don't have a bath tonight," his muffled voice informed me.
"Because there's some crazy strong smells coming out of that drain. Like, so weird I can taste the smell."
"Insane! What does the smell taste like?"
"You know the rotten smelling canal water in Venice?"
"Imagine drinking a glass of it."
"Yeah, I know. So what's for dinner? I'm starving."