Greg apparently forgot to put out clean towels for his visiting mother, so she, being the industrious sort, went rummaging through our linen closet. I assume. I've no real evidence that she did so, and am not about to ask.
When I came home, she greeted me from the futon and Waffles greeted me from three feet in the air, and Greg called out from the bedroom. I made my way down the hall to the bathroom, to brush my teeth, and noticed, hanging on the towel rack, a very special kind of face towel, one Greg has owned since before I met him, and has had some occasion to use since after I met him.
The towel was positioned in just the right way to reveal the embroidered words along one edge of the cloth: CUM RAG.
This, coupled with her casual admission from the night before about how Greg had woken her up by "sliding Waffles between my legs," is causing me not a little bit of Freudian anxiety.
Inappropriate sharing, incomprehensible ramblings, uncalled-for hostility: yup, it's a blog.
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