It Goes Without Saying That This Would Be a Great Band Name

Beloved Spouse and I often joke that the only way either one of us is getting out of this marriage is with a toe tag.

We had to explain to Precocious Daughter what a toe tag was.
Now she thinks her parents are creepy. Creepier. Whatever.

I want BelSpouse to live a long, full life, especially considering that he's had his share of health problems. But sometimes I do entertain the thought of murder. Especially when I walk into the kitchen in the morning and find this.

Bananas have many fine qualities. Attractiveness when
 left out overnight is not among them.

No one wants to turn on the lights and come face to face with a desecrated banana corpse. It really looks as if it died horribly, doesn't it?

The crime scene was very straightforward. Found near the desecrated banana corpse were a knife and a box of Frosted Flakes. Clearly the perpetrator had a midnight snack, in the course of which he butchered this innocent fruit and left the uneaten pieces strewn across my kitchen table. Gross.

So first thing this morning I found myself performing desecrated banana corpse cleanup duty. I gave it a decent burial and cleaned up the site. I wish to point out that Darling Dog, who will retrieve and eat anything he can reach on the kitchen table, including napkins and uncooked pasta, had not touched the desecrated banana corpse, although he had several hours to do so at his leisure. Because DDog has standards.

BelSpouse was still asleep when I left for work this morning, so I haven't confronted him about leaving a desecrated banana corpse to rot overnight on my kitchen table. I should have put it on his pillow, Godfather-style.

It's a damn good thing bananas don't bleed.

'Til death do us part. Those are the rules. All I'm saying is, does the messy, wasteful death of an innocent banana count?

And also...banana on Frosted Flakes? Gross.