I am sitting at the table reading thirty pages of some nearly 50-year old journal article on what exactly constitutes a "piece" of music as opposed to just plain old music (and by that, I mean I was Facebooking while the article was sitting next to the laptop). Scott just called at me from the kitchen:
Scott: "Hey hon? Can you explain to me this system?"
Me: "What system?"
Scott: "Of dishes..."
Me: "What do you mean?"
*Scott points to the rack of clean dishes*
Scott: "What are these? Are these dirty?"
Me: "No...they're clean. You just put them there to dry."
Scott: "Oh. So we're just washing things as we use them?"
Me: "Yes...."
Scott: "So I have to wash this plate I just used?"
Me: "...yeeees..."
Scott: "Ooof."
I have this sneaking suspicion that Schmooblebons thinks that there were secret magical elves that resided in our condo in Texas that would run the dishwasher and unload the dishes back into the cupboards at night. (Pssst. That "elf"was ME!)
Scott: "Hey hon? Can you explain to me this system?"
Me: "What system?"
Scott: "Of dishes..."
Me: "What do you mean?"
*Scott points to the rack of clean dishes*
Scott: "What are these? Are these dirty?"
Me: "No...they're clean. You just put them there to dry."
Scott: "Oh. So we're just washing things as we use them?"
Me: "Yes...."
Scott: "So I have to wash this plate I just used?"
Me: "...yeeees..."
Scott: "Ooof."
I have this sneaking suspicion that Schmooblebons thinks that there were secret magical elves that resided in our condo in Texas that would run the dishwasher and unload the dishes back into the cupboards at night. (Pssst. That "elf"was ME!)
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