The dishrag

by fooeynet

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“Excuse you?” Mother walks into the kitchen. “Dammit Jimbo, you gotta stop this! You’re going to be eight years old this week—when are you going to start acting your age? And where did you learn that language?”

She soaks up the spilled beer with an old dishrag and tosses it on the table while she bends down to pick up the shards of broken glass.

The dishrag is close. He stuffs it in his mouth. “Pfwockit,” he mumbles, and extracts every last drop from the filthy cloth.

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Comments

Average Reader Rating: 4.0 stars out of 5

  1. The dishrag

    i0td's Buddy Icon i0td

    Posted about 1 year ago

    5.0 out of 5 stars

    I love reading your work. Very funny stuff.

    My favorite part this time was finding out that the main character in this story is but a seven-year-old boy. Surprising and hilarious.

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