Dear Hubster,

This is the face of an unrepentant poop eater

Why might I be sharing this photo and caption with you? Anything come to mind? How about that bag full of doodie diapers that you left resting open on the floor right next to Dozer’s dog bed? Yes, that bag of tasty tush tacos which no gluttonous crap consumer could resist. You know the one that you should have taken outside but you, for some unknown reason, felt it would be better appreciated left near the foot of our marital bed. I feel I should share exactly what happened to the contents of said bag in excruciating detail.

Yesterday I found myself blithely sweeping the concrete in the back portion of the house when a series of splats and guttural hoarks broke the mood. Knowing that our massive 2 ton bullDozer has the delicate trembling stomach of a 96 year old woman, I booked it to the back door, threw it open, and propelled the dog into the yard where he proceeded to barf up an endless gelatinous stream of marshmallow like goo. Pillowy bile lace piles rested just outside our back stoop and my lunch pushed at the back of my throat, threatening to also break free.

I swung my body around drunkenly as my vision fuzzed in and out. My feet sought to propel me to the kitchen for a cool glass of water, but instead met with something cold and creamy. My nostrils flared as my body cringed from this unwelcome sensation. I peered downward and realized I was foot first in a baby bottom bomb. Squishy stinky reality slapped me hard. I hobbled my way towards the bathroom to clean up following a long brown trail that wound it’s way through the dinning room, down the hall, and to the dog bed. Haphazard and nearly invisible piles of puppy puke were sprinkled around the trail, making navigation down the hall particularly adventurous and disgusting.

It took me two long hours to contain the carnage and decontaminate our home. Two long hours that could have been used for navel gazing, toe nail chewing, ceiling sweeping or any number of other worthwhile pursuits.. or just doing that whole mothering thing where I play with, sing to, read to and nurture our young children. Two hours. But hey! You saved 10 minutes and the trouble of tying up the bag. You owe me. Big. I think I know a certain sexy Hubster who will not be allowed to shave off his curls, especially that Superman one that lazes on your forehead in that come hither fashion.

Your loving wife,

Fidget