A Not So Close Call

Sailor here.

Mom has two sponges for washing the dishes: the boring human sponge and the beautiful dog sponge. She does the human dishes with the human sponge and not surprisingly, she does the dog dishes with the dog sponge. She keeps them separate. Her sponge is on top of the sink within easy reach; my sponge is under the sink where I can say Hi whenever the cupboard door opens. Hers is blue. Mine is pink.

When her blue sponge becomes old and starts to shed, she pulls a new pink sponge from the pantry and it takes its place on the top of the sink. She then moves the old blue sponge to its new spot under the sink and the old pink dog sponge gets tossed in the garbage for the garbage men to steal on Garbage Stealing Day. This is the routine, anyway.

It seems that sometime over the Christmas holidays, someone who shall remain nameless switched the sponges. This someone remains nameless because we don't know who made the switch. The pink sponge moved to the blue position and the blue sponge moved to the pink position. Don't ask me how this came to pass, but Mom says that there was a glitch in her rotation system and she forgot what was which. She did our dishes with the opposite sponges for almost three months!

I don't know how she discovered this, but, unlike my normal Mom, she has decided not to stress about this. Based on my continued good health, she figures that no harm was done. I quite agree. After all, if I can kiss her on her face and be kissed in return, how bad can switching sponges full of suds and hot water be?