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God forbid I have five minutes to myself to cook dinner and put away some laundry. I could hear the dull sound of the riding lawnmower outside. Soon that sound is accompanied by others - the sound of Rob's voice... and then the sound of The Girl's. I figured it was the usual conversation between them when they did yardwork together - she's lazy and he has little patience. So I walk to the window of our bedroom on the second floor to see what kind of damage control I'm going to have to render, when look down to see Rob stopped on the mower, and The Girl standing next to him screaming her little head off.
Then I notice the bloody leg.
Approximately 1.29745 nanoseconds later I had leaped across the bedroom, across the house, flew down the stairs, and just as I opened the door, in walked The Girl - crying, hysterical, and with a bloody gash down the side of her leg.
me: "What happened?"
The Girl: "Rohimwfrok"
me: "Huh?"
The Girl: "Rob hit me with a rock"
At this point, I'm thinking WTF, why would he hit her with a rock? Why social services gotta be knocking on my door later???
And then the light bulb went off.
me: "Now this is very, very important, and I need you to think about your answer to my question very carefully. Did Rob hit you with the rock, or did the lawnmower hit you with the rock?"
Rest assured, it was the lawnmower.
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