After pouncing on my Smotch (who had previously been snarfling under the blankets) to wake him up, I meandered toward the master bath with every intention of jumping into the shower to clean my naughty bits. (Not that I wouldn’t soap up other things as well… It’s just that the naughty bits are the most fun to clean. 😛 ) But I got sidetracked with the de-furring process (I’m a Wookie, people; it’s ridiculous), which means I was standing naked in front of a mirror with a semi-sharp object (tweezers) while this scene unfolded:
Smotch: (sleepily) Duchess…?
Smotch: I don’t hear the water running… What are you doing?
Smotch: (unburying himself from the covers, somewhat alarmed now) It’s late!
Smotch: You don’t have time to be doing anything that has an ‘ing’ behind it!
Feve: Would you rather I did something with an ‘ing’ in front of it?
Smotch: Wha-aat…??? Ohhh… You mean… Like singing?
When I left for work today, I was sporting a gash on my chin. Turns out convulsive laughter while holding a pair of tweezers can be dangerous for one’s face.