Adrian scarfed down most of the biscuits and then went off to the bathroom to get ready first while I worked on cleaning up our breakfast mess and folding the clothes he washed. I contemplate putting his clothes in my room, but decide to just leave them on the couch in a neat pile so he can take them out to his car later.
His moaning and groaning in the shower leads me to believe that he’s having a harder time getting the marker off his face than I did to mine.
He came out in just a towel after a few minutes, a deep scowl on his goofy-looking face.
“How the heck did you get this s**t off?” The marks are rubbed red and raw, but still very much in place. I giggle at his frustration.
“Here, come on. I’ll do it.” I grabbed his hand and led him back into the bathroom, grabbed the make-u
