Shortly before bedtime Wednesday night, dad spots a (full) 16 oz bottle of tea on the kitchen table; in this house, a drink of any type left unattended is fair game for poaching, but dad leaves it alone…
…until morning. When the tea is still sitting unmolested, dad declares open season and quickly slugs it down. He is in the process of ironing a shirt when mom walks in:
“Who drank my tea?”
“I don’t know who drank YOUR tea, but I know who drank THE tea, and that was me!”
(Shocked)”You did NOT drink all that tea!”
“Yeah, I did; what’s the big deal? It was sitting there all night”
“Uh, I put Miralax in that tea…”
(Uncomfortable pause)
“How much?”
(Another pause)
“A LOT!”
I don’t know how things are where you come from, but even in Arkansas, “a lot” is not a unit of measure, especially when describing a dosage of laxative. Besides, who puts Miralax in tea? Then leaves it unattended and more importantly, unlabeled, on the kitchen table? I smelled a setup (literally, as it turned out).
Well, dad had thirty minutes to get to work, and was confident he could make it before detonation; everything appeared to be working out, so to speak, when dad crested a hill only to see an overturned reactor trailer rig blocking the interstate. The presence of haz mat crews in full body suits complete with respirators was somehow appropriate.
We will now draw the curtain of charity across this episode, as you are once again guilty of breaking the First Law:
Never Visualize.
