Although I have been busy for the past two weekends, My Fucking Father chided me for not cleaning the bathroom. He did, and he had no problem telling me tonight: "You need to learn, every week, to clean the bathroom. It took me an hour!" Yeah, the bathtub was getting a little grody, but I didn't think it was that bad, and besides, I was so tired I didn't give a shit. Whatevs, pops.
Then I opened the bathroom closet door. The towels, as of right now, are on the bottom. They didn't used to be, but they were cleaned out while the contractors were remodeling the bathroom (half-assedly) and that bottom component got very dusty. So My Fucking Father decided to lay down papers so the towels don't get dirty. And he decided to use the City Pages and ESPN The Magazine, two papers of mine.
I immediately put them back where they were: In the next compartment in the closet up from the bottom. I'll have to move the towels somewhere else, but no doubt that this was My Fucking Father's shot across the bow. It's on, motherfucker. You have no idea how passive-aggressive I'm about to get.
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