Devon and I awoke to a nasty surprise this morning in the form of a large pee stain in the middle of the bed. I know I didn't do it, and I'm pretty sure he didn't do it. Fitz was curled up on the bed as far from the pee as possible. Needless to say, she's going to be crated at night for the forseeable future. Devon pointed out that what separates adult humans from every other lifeform is responsibility for one's urine. He noted this after spotting the cat pee in his chair. Again. It's their special way of telling him to fuck off when the litter box is dirty. So Fitz was too lazy to get her ass out of bed and over to the pee pad, and the cats were just spiteful. The Adult Urine Theory also applies to Dad, who got pissy – ha ha! – with me when we were at a friend's house and I insisted that he change his diaper and let me blow dry his pants.
In other news: I started the process for carving mom's name into the headstone. She used to joke that if she kicked it before Dad, she would be buried between her first husband and second husband – a man sandwich. Would it be inappropriate to carve "Bow chica bow wow" into the stone?
I am wholly inappropriate.
Random funny from Devon, as we were walking on the subway platform: "If people commute together long enough, do their Metrocards sync up like periods?"