Tonight I was out with Mom and Dad and Baby Einstein at Barnes and Noble. We were walking back to the car and I felt something wet and squishy between my toes.
A bug – a flying bug – had taken the two milliseconds my foot and flip flop were separated from each other to fly up between my toes and between my foot and the flip flop and it was there he met his unfortunate end.
My response? After some gagging, slapping my flip flop against the column in the shopping center and wiping my foot in the grass – “Why was he flying that low?”
Why do flying creatures have a death wish when I’m around?