Last night, while sitting on the couch, I smelled poo. At first, I thought maybe I was imagining things, so I just went back to watching my TV. Unfortunately, that disgusting smell kept permeating the air and distracting me, so I knew it was very, very real.
Though my doggies are not above pooping inside the house, I was pretty sure that what I smelled was not theirs. I’ve cleaned their mess enough times to know the difference – nice, huh? I’ve cleaned enough dog and baby doo to tell the difference between the two…
But I digress.
I sniffed the couch, the pillows, the cushions, but came back with nothing. I had my nose in the air and on the ground for ten minutes and still came up empty handed. What was going on here?
In my mind, I imagined a solitary nugget falling out of my son’s diaper and rolling under the couch, sitting there, on a carefully executed ‘fragrance’ time-release. Another scenario? He dug into his dirty diaper and wiped his finger on something.
Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Ugh. Gag.
Luckily, before my imagination got the best of me, I found the source of the stink bomb: it was an old diaper, clear across the other side of the room! It was on the floor, looking like it was tossed aside and forgotten by *ahem* some ‘other’ adult who lives in this house. I had to hold my breath while I carried it to the trash because it was rank. Gugh! At least I was able to enjoy the rest of my evening, stink free.
I should get a bumper sticker on my car that reads: My other nose is on a Bloodhound.