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 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, stank free.
I should get a bumper sticker on my car that reads: “My other nose is on a Bloodhound.”