Well, the shit hit everything BUT the fan. Yes, I am talking about REAL shit. Poop. Poo. Poopoo. Turds. Crap. Caca. Shit by any other name smells as rank!!
Those of you who know Jimmie know that she is very independent. That is putting it mildly. She announced to me, while I was in the kitchen loading the dishwasher, that she was going upstairs to go poop. I offered to follow her, but she wanted to go alone. No surprise there! A few minutes later, my beautiful little girl comes down the stairs. I knew she was downstairs not because I saw her or heard her. You guessed it! I SMELLED HER. The smell of poop was overpowering.
I look at her and I see her adorable Old Navy t-shirt with her chubby legs sticking out from underneath it. Uh oh. What is that brown goop all over those chubby legs? IT'S POOP. She tried to wipe her own butt. "Mom, I think I may have got a little poop on the toilet."
I walk upstairs to the bathroom. I feel like I am starrig in a CSI crime scene. Erase the blood, replace it with poop, and take away the million dollar contracts.
The brownies I was going to bake as a thank you to my sister and BIL will have to wait. If I have to look at ANYthing brown & gooey ever again, I will barf.
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