Thursday, July 08, 2010
Sweeping Your Butt out of my Bedroom

This afternoon as I swept the dust bunnies out from under my bed for the first time in what
has clearly been far too long a time, I found the end of a Parliament covered in dust
bunnies. I know very few Parliament smokers. Moreover, there's only one person I've ever
allowed to smoke in my apartment, let alone my bedroom. I could have learned to love the
flavor of Schlitz and stale Parliaments in your mouth, my dear, had you ever given me the
opportunity to acquire the taste. But if I were truly the arch-sentimentalist you're always
accusing me of being, I would have saved the butt, or perhaps kissed the end that your lips
had touched before throwing it away. In this round of the eternal struggle between sentiment
and hygiene, however, hygiene carried the day.
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