“Bert, what’re you eating?” I asked, not at all sure I really wanted an aswer.

“Cottage cheese!” he replied happily, shoveling a white, lumpy masss into his mouth. Some of it missed and landed in his beard.

“Cottage cheese doesn’t come in a milk carton…” I twitched, unable to remove my eyes from the white flecks in his beard.

“So…”

“That means you’re eating rotten milk!” I cried, exasperated.

”...Okay.” Once again he stuffed his face.

“Bert, that’s nasty.”

“Want some?” he asked, wiggling his eyebrows. I grabbed the carton and tossed it into the trash.

“What was that for!” he cried incredulously.

“I will not have you throwing up in my apartment!”

“Technically it’s our apartment.”

“Bert, you don’t even live here,” I replied, giving him a look.

“Might as well…” he muttered.

I sniffed. “Did you at least shower?”

Bert sniffed beneath his pits. “No. Why? Do I smell like I did?”

I love my job I love my job I LOVE MY JOB !