There's been a lot of talk about poop and fibre over the past couple of days, exacerbated by the fact that ethnic food in Amsterdam = really tasty and that I still have a broken toilet seat. And I, being a ridiculously mature individual, feel the need to share this toilet humor. Summary of last night's SOBER conversation:
Me: I think he's in there trying to fix it.
E (male): What do you mean it's broken?
C: The seat can move unexpectedly.
Me: Am I going to fall in?
C: No, it's just a small shift.
E: I don't want to fall off.
Me: You won't fall off.
E: Do you touch rim?
Me: If you are so concerned about it, then don't shit in my house, shit in Kathleen's house.
E: I've already done plenty of that.
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