The Grapes and Wrath

The grapes lay in a puddle on the kitchen counter. Connie put her hands on her hips and shook her head. She cocked her head and yelled over her shoulder. “Carl, what have I told you about using a dishtowel?” She tapped her foot on the floor as she waited for a response.Carl steeped around the corner. “Um, to use one?” His eyebrows were raised in honest confusion. Connie gestured toward the grapes. “Oh, that.” Carl grinned sheepishly at her.

“No sir, that boyish charm is not gonna get you out of this one,” she sternly replied. “Clean up this dang mess before I have to give you what for.”She couldn’t hold back any longer, and burst into laughter.

“See, I knew that charm would do the trick. Works every time!” Carl snagged a clean dishtowel from the cabinet beneath the sink and set the dripping colander of grapes in the sink before drying off the counter. He leaned in and kissed Connie on the cheek. “Sorry I forgot, babe.”

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