Scene: Cleaning the bathroom. I pick up a bottle of hair gel that I have now thrown away 6 times (no joke) and husband has picked out of the garbage each time. Why? Because there is one squirt left. Supposedly.
Husband: Blah, blah Architecture firm, can I help you?
Me: If you pick this mother f'ing hair gel out of the garbage can one more time I'm going to kill you. Capiche?
Husband: I'm sorry you must have the wrong number.
Me: You're sleeping with the fishes garbage picker!