[now back to our regularly scheduled kid-centric programming]
This morning Toby's diaper was the heinousest yet. Usually I am a rock of impenetrability and J is a sensitive bud, but this morning I thought I might be killed dead. The fumes jammed the room even after the mess was in our bomb-shelter quality diaper garbage contraption, even after J kindly opened the window wide.
My one consolation was that there is usually but one large extrusion per diem.
So off we trundled to Cosco with our shiny new proof-of-assimilation card and a small pile of Sweet Potato Star Puffs. I thought I'd grab some cheapy chicken (GET it?!) to add to his Heiny's growing list of edibles but as I neared that area of the meat department a scent with which I am sadly familiar assailed my nasal fortress. Rotting chicken bacterial slime. I posted once about how that sickly smell made me so glad I don't eat chicken. SOOO glad. But I can't find the post and I'll still make chicken for you if you like. But who wants to buy $26.78 worth of stinky unappetizingly cloying shiny plump organic chicken breasts?
So we left with only a billion dollars of bulk daily items and no chicken. As I loaded these sundries in the jeep, I realized again there was an unpleasantness wafting and that Toby was distinctly squishy. I owe you an apology, Cosco QC.
The washing machine is a lovely invention. He woke up from his nap reslimed.
How can one little pot belly fit so much evil? How?