So, in my attempt to become a better wife now that all three kids are in school full-time, I am trying to prepare meals. Yes. At dinnertime. I know. Shut up. I even made Mr. Manic teach me how to turn on the grill the other day, and I even flipped some chicken. It was kind of fun. I like when everything is charred so to me, if it's burned, it's probably done.
Anyway, we had some freshly caught salmon in our freezer that I took out and, well, he ended up grilling it, and there was a ton, and we ate some of it, but then there was a pretty large amount left over, and that's not the kind of stuff you save for leftovers, I don't think so anyway.
The garbage had just been picked up that day. He didn't want to throw it in the garbage and have stinky fish in the garbage for a week. I didn't think we should put it down the sink disposal because of the fish bones.
"I'll flush it down the toilet," he said.
Yep. That's what he said. And yep, my eyes bulged out of my head.
"What?" he said. "Bigger things have come out of you than this plate of fish." Mind you, it was a BIG plate of fish, and mind you, it is quite possible that bigger things may have come out of me (NOT TALKING CHILDREN HERE) at some point in my bowel experiences, but I replied:
"MAYBE, but the things that have come out of me (NOT TALKING CHILDREN HERE!) DO NOT HAVE BONES and are allowed to be FLUSHED DOWN THE TOILET!"
Still, he didn't listen, and have you ever heard that old adage about mothers knowing best. Well, there should be one about wives knowing best, because yes, indeed, he did flood the toilet.
Who the hell flushes a plate of salmon DOWN THE TOILET!?!?!?!?
My husband, that's who.