The ROBBER ducky!!!
Believe me, I have experienced more than my share of ridiculous arguments in my lifetime. It shouldn't surprise me at this point. But, my goodness...when will I learn?
I should really get some serious credit for maintaining a mature demeanor when Brad enlisted my help in drilling holes in the bottoms of his decoy ducks to empty them of water. And it was actually pretty fun squeezing their sides to expel the liquid although poor Sydney almost ran the push mower into a tree from laughing so hard. But when Brad handed me a hard-bristled brush and asked me to clean any residual debris from his ducks, I was done.
"Now...I don't know all that much about duck hunting," I admitted to my husband, "but will a flock of water fowl conscientiously avoid a water landing area if it is besmirched with a dirty duck? Are they THAT judgmental?" And here I was feeling sorry for my little feathered friends. Forget that! Blast 'em out of the skies, those duck-billed bullies!
Brad frowned thoughtfully before nodding. Taking the brush back, he said, "You're right. It's probably not necessary to clean off the decoys." I smiled, victorious. "Well...c'mon then," Brad said, walking back into the garage. "What are you doing," I asked. "Now that we're done with the ducks, we can start installing the steel guards on the roof," he answered. I raced after him, grabbing the brush from his hand. "There's actually nothing wrong with taking a bit of pride in one's personal appearance," I told him, vigorously dislodging pond muck from a decoy, "No one respects a dirty duck."
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