teaching an old man to live, part 004

This happened a couple of weeks ago. Spike said, ‘Oh. I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.’

This scared me quite a bit; I don’t actually have conversation with him. Never did.

‘Yes?’

‘I have cleaned the toilet with a brush and that powder you showed me. I even tried the special spray.

There’s…there are stains.’

I stood looking at him, hoping I could get out of sorting his toilet stains since I’d dealt with them the 1st month after Dutch dropped dead.

Then, I rethought the situation. He didn’t ask me to sort it out. He presented what he had been doing and that a predicament existed yet.

He doesn’t know shit.

‘You know your beer can bucket? Take that and fill it half fill of water and force-flush the commode. It will leave only a very small amount of water in the bowl–‘

‘OH!!!!! I can scrub it better that way!!! Thank YOU! See? You know these things.’

Yes. Yes, I do. I was cleaning his shit stains from aged 3 in bathroom and laundry, like a good little soldier. 

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