"It's not my fault," I heard twin
whines coming from the corners of the living room. One was my co-worker David,
and the other was my own sweet brat.
Allen just shook his head and I rolled my
eyes looking at the ceiling.
"Then whose fault is it? Both of you
rode your bikes down Main Street during the parade with your bodies painted as
a rainbow and with your goodies showing." Allen asked through clenched
teeth.
I've seen him upset, but not like this.
Both young men looked at each other.
"The painters fault!" they both said in unison.
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