I no longer remember how it started, or why we were tossing around that wet cottonball, Tilly and I.

Standing in the hallway with the air conditioning blowing through our feathers we tossed it back and forth, to each other, and up in the air.

She tossed it high. It hit the ceiling.

There was a splashy plop sound.

It stayed up there.

Tilly grinned at me.

The cottonball was stuck to the ceiling.... We were obsessed.

Exchanging a glance, we ran to the bathroom, where I pulled out the bag of cottonballs and Tilly got to work wetting them in the sink.

We were going to have fun...

Soon another cottonball joined the first one. Then another...

It was a new-found pastime that likely no one would be able to understand, and I bet most would find rather ridiculous. But at least I had Tilly- just by looking at the brown hen I was certain she'd found her new hobby.

The activity did much for our amusement. We found great joy in the satisfying sound soggy cottonballs made as they hit the ceiling, and the way they just stuck there was hilarious.

By the time we'd finished laughing the ceiling was dotted with cottonballs.

And yet the fun would continue when, during Tilly's next playdate, we'd discover how the cottonballs come raining down to the floor when they dry.

(A/N: This is literally something my friends and I actually did, and it was so awesomely ridiculous that of course I had to include it as a story. 😂)