“You know what I was thinking about?”
“No, I don’t.”
“So, my mom visited me at my place over the weekend. And you know how moms can be, right?”
“Right.”
“Anyway, she was like, criticizing my interior decoration. Do I look like some kind of like, you know, like, a fucking designer? Then, she went after the cleanliness of my place. Told me I needed to dust the top of my bookshelves. So I told her, you know, no one’s that tall. So why should I put in that effort.”
“Good god you’re an ass. That’s your mom you’re talking to.”
“Are you saying I’m wrong in this? Do you care about some dust bunnies eight feet in the air? Don’t even yank my chain, dude.”
“Why can’t you just accept some things and stop engaging in discussion about every little minute thing? We’re talking about your mom here.”
“Listen, man. There’s a limit to what a man in his twenties needs to do. I vacuum around the place; I clean the toilet. Those are things everyone can see and appreciate. But I’m not going to clean the top of some bookshelf.”
“So what you’re saying is, that you’re dirty.”
“No. The difference is that with some things, you do them because otherwise your place looks disgusting, and you will never feel the embrace of a woman ever again. But this? It’s just about the knowledge, and, like, feeling good. You can’t even see it! You know, now that I’m really thinking about it, I’ll just tell my mom I did it. What is she, gonna get a ladder and see if I actually did it?”
“You can’t do one thing to keep your mom happy?”
“I just don’t see the point. Anyway, this isn’t even what I wanted to talk about. So she goes to use the bathroom. Now get a load of this – she comes back; says that I need to buy a new toilet brush. I ask why. She says, get this, because it’s disgusting.”
“And you think it isn’t disgusting?”
“No, of course it’s disgusting, but it’s a toilet brush. I say to my mom; if we threw out the toilet brush once it gets disgusting, it would only be used once. Now I ask you; when does a toilet brush cross that line of being too disgusting to keep in the house?”
“You know, now that I think about it, I’ve never switched my toilet brush.”
“So you know what I’m saying!”
“I guess you have a point. But I’ve only lived by myself for two years, so my toilet brush is still pretty new. But if it were like, five years old, I guess I’d get a new one.”
“Dude, five?”
“How old is yours?”
“I just took my old one with me when I moved out.”
“That’s disgusting. And what do you mean, ‘your old one?’ Were there multiple toilet brushes at your house?”
“Yeah, man, we all had one.”
“What is wrong with your family, man? That is so weird!”
“No, no, no. Don’t joke with me on this. Everyone has their own brush, and if it wasn’t like that with your family, you can fuck off.”
“I’m leaving.”