Her: Could you do me a favor?
Him: Sure. What’s up?
Her: Could you please stop just THROWING your shoes in the hall closet? They pile up into a big mountain and it’s annoying.
Her: Yes. It’s annoying to open the closet and see a pyramid of shoes looking at me.
Him: You think the shoes are looking at you?
Her: You know what I mean.
Him: Do I?
Her: You’re going to give me a hard time about this, aren’t you?
Him: Yes, I surely am.
Him: Why? Why? Because EVERY DAMN DAY when I come home from work, I open the front door, take ONE step inside, and routinely fall flat on my ass because when YOU come home YOU KICK OFF YOUR SHOES AND LEAVE THEM RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE DOOR FOR ME TO TRIP OVER!
Her: You’ve never tripped over my shoes….
Him: I’ve never NOT tripped over your shoes! I’VE Tripped over them, your son has tripped over them…. I’m pretty sure everyone who has ever stepped foot into this house has tripped over them!
Her: Now you’re exaggerating…
Him: Am I? Go ask your son how many times I have walked into this house carrying packages and ended up looking like I’m a fucking plate-spinner in a fucking carnival act as I try to hold on to what I’m carrying while I’m sailing across the hallway on one of your discarded high heels!
Her: Have you ever REALLY gotten hurt?
Him: No, but that’s only because I have catlike reflexes.
Her: Why are you being a dick?
Him: Because I have to wonder why it’s a priority to make sure that the shoes that I have put safely away in the closet MUST be in a neat row, but you choose to fly by the seat of your pants when it comes to me getting assaulted every time I walk into this house like I’m Inspector Clouseau!
Her: You can never make anything easy, can you?
Him: Sure! I can EASILY crack my fucking head open every time I put my key in the door! Would that work for you?
Her: You’re an ass. I married an ass.
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