Dinner Conversations

First off I will preface that I hate Wednesdays. I hate them because I have all the responsibility that is usually heaped on my wife's shoulders. I'm responsible for the homework, cooking, showers, and of course the dinner conversations. Now realize the old lady already prepares the meal or at least leaves detailed instructions that ensures proper nourishment. All is literally taken care of before Wednesday even arrives. I'm a hater of the hump day.  My wife or The Chosen One as she will be referred to on this blog teaches a class on this wretched day and works very late. When the semester dies so does my hatred for Wednesday's. 

Wednesday does not only bring pain and suffering to me it also bears the fruits of some damn good conversation between me and the girls. Tonight we discussed poop while eating spaghetti and meatballs. This topic would have never been even brought up if The Chosen One was here. We got on it by talking about how everything costs money. For some reason I asked how was poop made. The little one said "we buy and eat brown stuff." I said "yea but all the stuff we buy and eat aren't brown. So where does it come from then?" I wanted to keep going. I was thoroughly being entertained. It took a seven year old to finally put the kibosh on all the poop talk. The point that I was trying to make was that we pay for food then we poop it out and in essence we pay for poop. It's logic from a fourteen year old.

Shortly after our wonderful dialogue on digestion the little one asked me if we have any compost piles, heaps or whatever the hell she was talking about. I knew it was something organic or good for Mother Earth. As a person who doesn't but should care more about the environment I acted like I knew what she was saying. I said no, so of course she was appalled and wanted immediately to know why we didn't. The little poem writing tree hugger became vicious and assaulted me with questions on why we don't reduce, recycle and reuse more. I took her in the garage and showed her the recycle bin to pipe her down. I said "See? Look at all those beer bottles daddy put in there!" She finally followed her advice and reduced her own carbon dioxide emissions and stopped yelling at me.