Sep. 22nd, 2011

scythe_of_time: (ground)
The Killers: Are we human? Or are we dancer?
Nolan: *shake it, shake it, shake that thing*
Me: *snort-giggle* Well, I know which one you are.
scythe_of_time: (whine)
File a great part of this day under "humiliating moments I (likely) never, ever, would have had were I not a mother."

So I'm sitting at lunch with Aaron and Robert, having dragged my depressed ass out of bed and actually showered so as to not put them off, and I keep smelling fecal matter. I check the most logical source of offending materials--Nolan's skinny white ass--and find nothing. But strangely, my hands reek of it. There's nothing brown under my nails, so where's it coming from? The last crappy diaper I changed was last night, and I know I washed my hands afterwards.

So I wash my hands. The smell leaves my fingers, but doesn't go away entirely. And sure enough, five minutes later, a nasty aura clings to my hands again. What the hell? Eventually, after trying to play bloodhound as steathily as possible, I discover the source.

It turns out that the stains on yesterday's jeans that I tossed on right before we left? Those brown blotches spreading across my thighs that I thought were just massive amounts of taco sauce?

The horror. The horror!

I can only hope my lunch companions didn't realize the smell filling my (already filthy) car was me. Shower #2, coming right up.


scythe_of_time: (Default)

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