This weekend, my house smelled like shit.
You know how sometimes you walk into your own house and are dismayed to find that it smells bad, only to spend a few hours in your home and completely get used to it.
Yeah. That's not what happened.
This was a shitty smell that there was just no getting used to.
So I spent my weekend on the hunt for the source of the smell. My son is still working on potty training, and he still wears diapers to bed, but I couldn't find an improperly disposed of diaper anywhere.
My daughter had a mysterious wet spot on her bed. She's a little old for accidents, but you never know. Except that it seemed like just clear water. She was evasive when I questioned her.
But this smell seemed to emanate from the upstairs bathroom. It was when I finally decided to check the trash for used toilet paper that I found it.
A piece of poo.
Just sitting there in the bottom of the trash bin.
No one is claiming it. But I have an idea of where it may have come from.
I've decided that this mysterious piece of poop is a metaphor for my life.
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