I walked into our bedroom and adjoining master bath to see what caused such incredulity. There he stood pointing to a puddle on the floor.
“That is not water,” he cried. “It’s yellow. It’s pee.”
I was frozen to the spot gaping at him, not because the puddle was there, but because . . . . Did he seriously think that, first of all I piddled the floor, and second that I left it there all day? Then we looked at each other and had a great laugh over the whole thing. I could not, however, resist some sarcastic comments about how and why I might have done such a thing.
Earlier in the day, I had run upstairs to take care of something, leaving one little Irish munchkin downstairs. When I came back, she told me she wet the floor . . . in the hallway. I cleaned up the mess and forgot about the whole thing. The little sneak, knowing she wasn’t allowed in our bedroom, had gone in there and, horrors, had an accident. Then she ran out and LIED about it . . . leaving me to take the blame!