The pile looked totally innocent (to me), sitting alone, though now, disturbed on the back deck, t'was quite nearly fresh as a, well, fresh - we'll leave it at that --with a tiny sandaled footprint planted perfectly in the center of the pile. A work of art! The teeny footprint entrenched deep in the doo.
Who does that?
I mean, really, who does that?
I said to Bradley, "Why did you do that?" To which he replied, "I don't know."
Remember when you were in pre-school and someone -- let's say it was your teacher -- instructed the class on how to make your hand imprint in plaster of paris? This craft would become a holiday ornament with a neatly tied red ribbon, cherished by all for years to come. Yet no one ever asked "Why did you do that?"
The Cole sisters in the days of yore