They Call Me Mr. Clean

Staci got mad at me yesterday for always leaving stuff in the middle of the floor.

"I'm the one who has to pick it up," she said, "So when you're walking through a room and you see something lying there, do something.  Don't just leave it for me."

"Okay," I said.

This morning, I saw a sock lying on the floor in front of the nightstand.

It was right out in the open, plain as day.  The very type of thing she told me to do something about.

So I did.

I kicked it under the bed.