Last night, sitting in the kitchen, my step-dad yelled at me for throwing a peice of plastic into the trash...after shooting him the "do-you-think-im-stupid" look I said I had to explain to him the way plastics work, and that the pastic I held in my hand was a #3 and could therefore not be recycled.
Paul, being as stubborn as he is, didn't believe me. "How do you know what number it is?" and other such questions came blowing out of his mouth. It was then that I sat my parents down for the Good Plastics, Bad Plastics
A welcomed the new information, where as P...refused to admit I was actually teaching him something and made some sort of noise. (I believe this "i-know-all" attitude came along with his being a minister...*snap*) However, this morning when he couldn't see me, I did see him flip over a plastic container to see what number it was. I wasn't a failure.