Ladies and Gentlemen, I’m here to chime in on a few recent postings by my better half. Mainly the stink finger, hammocks and a belly update. I will attempt to address these points in a two part series.
On to the stink finger! There I was, casually washing some dishes when my nephew rounded the corner laughing with delight. He recently learned to crawl, and he can’t get enough of it. That kid is the definition of pure joy when he’s crawling. He kind of laughs or screams with excitement as he tears through the house. It’s really hard to describe unless you’ve seen it, but I would liken it to me eating ice cream for breakfast. I shriek with delight while devouring the cool treat, especially if it’s before 9am. It’s the simple things in life people.
Anyway, Noah aka Stink Butt rolls in and sits up next to me. He makes a funny face and then, BOOM! The shot heard ‘round the world. It’s the foulest smelling “shot” I’ve ever encountered, and I have a dog with IBS folks. After the dirty bomb was detonated, I immediately went into crisis mode. The paint was already starting to peel off the walls so I needed to act fast. First order of business, confirm it was a direct hit. I scooped Stink Butt off the floor and sniffed his butt. (Normally that sentence would seem to be odd behavior, but I’ve seen this done by parents and grandparents before.) I dry heave for the first time. It’s confirmed, Hiroshima is in his pants. For reasons beyond my own comprehension, I decided I needed more evidence. And again, inexplicably, I put my finger into the back of his diaper for a closer look. BAM! My finger hits turd instantly. I dry heave for the second time. I was just trying to pull the back of the diaper out so I could look down for more proof. My eyes only needed to focus on my porridge encrusted finger to realize what an idiot I am.
So I’m freshly stink fingered, but I must push through because Stink Butt is in bad shape. The blast is contained to the diaper, however contamination can occur if clean up is delayed. I rallied the hazmat squad to get me two plastic bags, a fresh Pamper, some wipes, and a blanket…STAT! By this point, Jenn is in tears. I can’t tell if it’s from the outbreak of laughter she’s having or the horrible smell that has poisoned one of my dogs.*
At this point, I’m starting to impress myself. I’ve got Stink Butt in one hand, and I’m stripping him down so that we don’t get any leakage on his clothing, all the while I’ve totally tuned out Jenn’s hysterical laughter. I’m the epitome of focus. I lay down the blanket, and put a plastic bag over it. I put SB on top of the bag. I grabbed the wipes, the new diapy, and the hazardous materials sack and pull my shirt up over my nose. I go in…and dry heave for the third time. It’s the worst case of poop nuts I’ve ever seen. Poor SB has no idea how bad it is. It’s important to note his professionalism. This kid just had a bomb detonated in his pants that exploded up his back with toxic fallout in the front of his diaper, yet he still has a smile on his face. His calm demeanor really helped diffuse an extremely stressful and potentially life threatening situation.
It took 17 disinfectant wipes and 9.7 minutes to clean up the toxic waste. Both are records for a “dry clean” meaning I didn’t have to fully submerge the victim in an alkylalkanolamide surfactant and H2O solution. (Bubble bath) I put the used wipes and shredded diaper into the plastic bag and took it to the trash. I dry heave for the fourth time on my way. I got Stink Butt back into his clothes and let him roam around some more. He went right back to laughing and screaming as he scooted across the floor. Ironically, SB’s dad picked him up approximately 15 minutes after my life was permanently altered. I’ve regained about 68% use of the afflicted stink finger. Thankfully, I can still handle a Big Mac without too much difficulty. Doctors think I’ll need another three or four detoxification and sterilization treatments to restore the original smell of my beloved phalange. Until then, I’m forced to wrap it in scented toilet paper any time it may come in close contact with my nostrils…agh ugh…I just dry heaved again.
Stayed tuned for Part 2 of Stink Fingers, Hammocks and Belly Update.
* - No dogs or other living creatures were actually harmed during the telling of this story, except me.
On to the stink finger! There I was, casually washing some dishes when my nephew rounded the corner laughing with delight. He recently learned to crawl, and he can’t get enough of it. That kid is the definition of pure joy when he’s crawling. He kind of laughs or screams with excitement as he tears through the house. It’s really hard to describe unless you’ve seen it, but I would liken it to me eating ice cream for breakfast. I shriek with delight while devouring the cool treat, especially if it’s before 9am. It’s the simple things in life people.
Anyway, Noah aka Stink Butt rolls in and sits up next to me. He makes a funny face and then, BOOM! The shot heard ‘round the world. It’s the foulest smelling “shot” I’ve ever encountered, and I have a dog with IBS folks. After the dirty bomb was detonated, I immediately went into crisis mode. The paint was already starting to peel off the walls so I needed to act fast. First order of business, confirm it was a direct hit. I scooped Stink Butt off the floor and sniffed his butt. (Normally that sentence would seem to be odd behavior, but I’ve seen this done by parents and grandparents before.) I dry heave for the first time. It’s confirmed, Hiroshima is in his pants. For reasons beyond my own comprehension, I decided I needed more evidence. And again, inexplicably, I put my finger into the back of his diaper for a closer look. BAM! My finger hits turd instantly. I dry heave for the second time. I was just trying to pull the back of the diaper out so I could look down for more proof. My eyes only needed to focus on my porridge encrusted finger to realize what an idiot I am.So I’m freshly stink fingered, but I must push through because Stink Butt is in bad shape. The blast is contained to the diaper, however contamination can occur if clean up is delayed. I rallied the hazmat squad to get me two plastic bags, a fresh Pamper, some wipes, and a blanket…STAT! By this point, Jenn is in tears. I can’t tell if it’s from the outbreak of laughter she’s having or the horrible smell that has poisoned one of my dogs.*
At this point, I’m starting to impress myself. I’ve got Stink Butt in one hand, and I’m stripping him down so that we don’t get any leakage on his clothing, all the while I’ve totally tuned out Jenn’s hysterical laughter. I’m the epitome of focus. I lay down the blanket, and put a plastic bag over it. I put SB on top of the bag. I grabbed the wipes, the new diapy, and the hazardous materials sack and pull my shirt up over my nose. I go in…and dry heave for the third time. It’s the worst case of poop nuts I’ve ever seen. Poor SB has no idea how bad it is. It’s important to note his professionalism. This kid just had a bomb detonated in his pants that exploded up his back with toxic fallout in the front of his diaper, yet he still has a smile on his face. His calm demeanor really helped diffuse an extremely stressful and potentially life threatening situation.
It took 17 disinfectant wipes and 9.7 minutes to clean up the toxic waste. Both are records for a “dry clean” meaning I didn’t have to fully submerge the victim in an alkylalkanolamide surfactant and H2O solution. (Bubble bath) I put the used wipes and shredded diaper into the plastic bag and took it to the trash. I dry heave for the fourth time on my way. I got Stink Butt back into his clothes and let him roam around some more. He went right back to laughing and screaming as he scooted across the floor. Ironically, SB’s dad picked him up approximately 15 minutes after my life was permanently altered. I’ve regained about 68% use of the afflicted stink finger. Thankfully, I can still handle a Big Mac without too much difficulty. Doctors think I’ll need another three or four detoxification and sterilization treatments to restore the original smell of my beloved phalange. Until then, I’m forced to wrap it in scented toilet paper any time it may come in close contact with my nostrils…agh ugh…I just dry heaved again.
Stayed tuned for Part 2 of Stink Fingers, Hammocks and Belly Update.
* - No dogs or other living creatures were actually harmed during the telling of this story, except me.
2 comments:
*I think what you meant to say is that no dogs were poisoned YET. I'm just saying....
This is hilarious. I gagged just thinking about it.
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