“Your House Smells Like Poop” and other fond memories from today.
These are the kind of text messages I get at 6:30 on a Friday night.
Those about getting up early and running on a Saturday morning.
Welcome to my world.
Actually I was very happy to have company on part of a 12 mile run. Lord willing, I’m doing the Thanksgiving Half Marathon in the ATL on Thanksgiving and since Thanksgiving is 12 days away — do you believe that — I needed to do one last long run.
So running buds Kim and Melissa were showing up on my door at 7:30 today and Melissa’s son was coming over to hang with my kids while we ran.
Melissa leaving my house after getting her son settled.
Flash backward about three minutes.
Young son and Melissa knock on door. I smile and let them in.
“Your house smells like poop,” comes from mouth of young son.
Oh.
Amazingly I had a reply real quick. And it wasn’t a made up wicked fib like the Grinch to Cindy Loo Who.
“We have a dog and I think he makes things smell.”
“Dogs aren’t supposed to poop in the house.”
No. No young child. Dogs aren’t to poop in the house, just as you think old age will never happen to you.
Good grief.
Does it really smell that bad? Granted I keep Imodium AD in my medicine cabinet for my dog. But still.
I don’t smell it.
Or maybe it’s like the pulp mill stink in Brunswick. Every time I’m down there I’m like “how do these people stand it?”
Maybe they don’t notice because they breathe it all the time.
And my to my friends. Why didn’t you tell me? I would tell your if your zipper was open or if your breath smelled bad. Or if your house smelled like poop.
Okay. Maybe I wouldn’t.
Obviously there is little I hold back from telling you people.
When I get a moment to catch my breath, I’m going to rent a steam cleaner. Because the back-of-the-house renovation we need is not going to happen EVER.
So that was the start to my day.
I did get 12 miles in but had to come home to a poop-smellin’ house. That I still can’t smell.
What do you do? People that live with animals?
HELP.
