I couldn’t get the Little Monster’s bath water to fill this morning. Upon closer inspection, I could see something stuck in the drain, preventing the plug from sealing. Lego? Gum-wad? Fake coin? Precious stone? Something I really didn’t want to get my fingers on without first identifying it?
I managed to pry it out: a bottle cap. Not this kind:
Although once the Little Monster hits his teens I might not be able to say with full confidence that this is not his, I can still wholly blame it on the cider maker himself. And he wonders why I have my doubts about a home cider-making business, when a bathtub is not a bathtub:
And a man is not a man, but a cider maker conjuring spells that can alter his wife’s mood in an instant: