My friend at work stops in the middle of our conversation, points at the ground, and says, matter-of-factly, “Stinkbug.”
Thus ensues a bit of running around which culminates in me carrying said stink bug, who is now very confused, in a plastic cup up the elevator and out the front door of the store to the curb, where he is dumped unceremoniously in the rain.
There is some discussion on my return to the shoe floor as to whether we really saved him, per se, but we all finally agree that, though he’ll probably die outside, at least he’ll die in his “natural” habitat.
When I relate this story to Katie later that night, she muses, “You should have compared it to Disneyworld."
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