Just a few minutes ago, Emma came upstairs and mumbled something about poking a hole in my couch while I showered (getting ready for work).
"What," I asked, "You did what?"
"I poked a hole in your couch but someone was in my arm..."
"Just a minute," I say while slathering soap on," I'll be down in a minute."
So I wrap myself in a towel and go downstairs,"You poked a hole in my couch? Where?"
"Well...," she begins, " someone was in my arm and they made me do it...," she shows me with a downward slash of her Nintendo DS stylus-clad hand.
"Oh yeah," I ask, incredulous., "And who would that be?" (there may have been a hint of sarcasm)
"Um... Sponge Bob."
And there you have it. I knew it! Sponge Bob is the father of all things unholy. Take note, dear readers, lest your couches be poked with holes, too.
Be afraid. Be very afraid.