So, we have this mudroom at our house.
I'm sure all of you understand the concept of a mud room, correct? In olden days, when you returned from the outside conditions from a hard days' huntin' or farmin' they would walk into the mudroom and strip off your boots, clothes, socks, etc.
Wife is happy her house is mud-free. Husband is happy that wife is happy. Kids are happy that the two aren't fighting.
Our mudroom is not only our mud room, it's also our computer room. Plus, it's connected to three different doors: the door to the garage (which also houses our trash cans), the sliding door to the backyard and the door to the front of the house. It also used to be our dog's room until he died last August. (sob!)
In any event, a lot of traffic comes through the mud room and I'm constantly hopping back and forth doing various things. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah. Blah.
So, yesterday I stepped onto the linoleum floor and (BAM!) the melted snowy water started seeping through my sock and into my right foot.
I bit my lip.
Then, I searched for another dry spot on the linoleum and, like Frogger hopping across the lily pads in the popular 80's video game, I jumped into the air. I landed with a SPLISH. The melted snowy water started seeping through my sock and into my left foot.
"Dammit," I grimaced cursing the melted snow.
"Dammit," I hear behind me.
My head pops up and, with wide eyes, I do a 180-degree turn. My two-year old son is staring straight at me.
"No, no, no," I say walking over to my son, but step into a big puddle of melted snow, which completely soaks my already-wet right foot.
"Shit," I scream, but it comes out like slow molasses and sounds almost like 'Sheeeeeeeeeiiiiiit'.
"Sheeeeeeiiiiiit," my son screams mocking my slow molasses speak.
"Dammit," I say condemning myself for saying 'Shit' in front of my son.
"Dammit," my son responds staring up at me with those innocent eyes.
I take a pause.
"No, Daddy messed up," I say to my son. "We don't say 'Dammit', we say 'Darn it', understand?"
"Dammit," my son responds with an evil smile. Then he runs away.
"No, no, no, wait," I scream and take another step towards my son and SPLOSH, my left foot steps into the same puddle of melted snow.
"Fuck," I scream out.
"Fuck," I hear someone scream behind me.
I twist around and see my three-year old daughter staring at me.