July 18, 2009
I'm not sure about the science behind this, but now that I'm in my third trimester, everything smells.
My dog's breath smells just like a swiss cheese and salami sandwich on rye--even though those foods are clearly not a part of her therapeutic canine IBS diet. My kid's head smells exactly like spicy Thai peanut sauce--not his breath mind you, but his head. His four-year-old body on the other hand? Now that smells like sweat and Ju-Ju-Bees dipped in 2% milk.
And then there's my husband. Who just smells bad.
I haven't been able to pinpoint exactly what his smell is, or precisely where it's coming from--the only thing I know for sure is that it's very pungent and it travels in waves. Sometimes I swear it comes from his mouth, other times I'd bet money that it's anal in origin. And then, just when I'm about to ask him if he farted clear up into my nose while I was distracted by Days of Our Lives, the smell seems to shift, and waft from his feet.
Sometimes it's spicy, other times it's sugary, but most of the time it's plain old defecation-y. And my heavens, I can hardly handle this type of uncertainty at a sensitive time like this. I should be worrying about Twinkies and Ho-Hos--not the fact that the people in my house all smell like chocolate covered hot dogs on a stick.
Last night, when Jared came home from work, he cracked open the mudroom door and yelled, "Hey Hon, I'm home!" James immediately left his Pinocchio movie in the dust (Side Note: Did you know that kids drink and smoke and say "jackass" in that movie? If that sounds interesting to you, it's available for rent at your local library.) and barreled to meet his Dad Almighty at the door.
Now I, on the other hand, stayed on the couch, gave a sniff or two and said, "Hi Jared! Have you been eating Doritos?"
He was like, "I ate Doritos three days ago with my lunch."
"Well you still smell like them. Can you jump in the shower before you come in here and hug me?"
And he was all, "No Amy. I've had three showers, mowed the lawn, and swam across the lake since I ate those Doritos. A shower won't help."
"Well were there any Doritos floating in the lake, Jared? I'm pretty sure you're contaminated."
And so on and so forth.
Now I know what you're all thinking--"Well Amy, what exactly do you smell like these days?" I'm gonna be completely honest with you right now--I smell like baby powder and lilac deodorant. This is no lie.
I know.
According to Jared I smell more like body odor and hair gel.
I have no idea where that man gets these things from.
Showing posts with label Gracie the greyhound. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gracie the greyhound. Show all posts
Screw You, Murphy
June 8, 2009
Just so you know, if your car ever happens to get towed in Portland, Maine, it's $95 to get it out of the impound lot. And they only take cash. In exact amounts.
The price stands firm whether or not there were signs indicating that it was, in fact, a tow-away zone. The guessing keeps it interesting, I suppose--kind of like playing Russian Roulette with your weekly grocery money.
While you wait for your husband to retrieve the vehicle at 9pm on a Saturday night, your overtired 4-year-old might just stand on top of a table at a Subway restaurant, play dead behind the sandwich artists' station, and hug a very boisterous homeless woman tightly around the waist (with his head resting comfortably at her crotch).
Meanwhile, at home, your dog--you know, the one with a severe case of canine IBS?--is likely to be losing the contents her intestines all over your kitchen, den, and the 100% genuine wool rug on your living room floor. Really now, who can blame her? You are, after all, running an hour or two late.
The next morning, your child will probably wake up with a nasty, nasty hacking cough that sounds remarkably similar to the homeless woman's (not that there's anything wrong with that). You'll scrub your rug for at least 90 minutes, deem it unsalvagable, and your husband will leave on an overnight fishing trip because hello cruel world!, he needs to get away from it all.
Chances are, you'll eat 9 brownies before dinner because honestly, IS THERE A FREAKING POINT TO TRYING TO STAY SKINNY THESE DAYS? Since you're an above-average mother, you'll decide to share one of those treats with your 4-year-old boy, only to realize that he just ate the mocha one, flavored with 100% genuine Colombian dark roast coffee.
He will stay up until 10:30pm rearranging the artwork on his walls, changing his bedding (twice), and reorganizing the contents of his dresser drawers--all the while, wearing nothing but rubber underpants and a Christmas tie.
Eventually he will fall asleep, you will fall asleep, and your dog will have an acute intestinal flare-up at 2:15 in the morning. At least it's a beautiful night for a walk.
How was your weekend?
Just so you know, if your car ever happens to get towed in Portland, Maine, it's $95 to get it out of the impound lot. And they only take cash. In exact amounts.
The price stands firm whether or not there were signs indicating that it was, in fact, a tow-away zone. The guessing keeps it interesting, I suppose--kind of like playing Russian Roulette with your weekly grocery money.
While you wait for your husband to retrieve the vehicle at 9pm on a Saturday night, your overtired 4-year-old might just stand on top of a table at a Subway restaurant, play dead behind the sandwich artists' station, and hug a very boisterous homeless woman tightly around the waist (with his head resting comfortably at her crotch).
Meanwhile, at home, your dog--you know, the one with a severe case of canine IBS?--is likely to be losing the contents her intestines all over your kitchen, den, and the 100% genuine wool rug on your living room floor. Really now, who can blame her? You are, after all, running an hour or two late.
The next morning, your child will probably wake up with a nasty, nasty hacking cough that sounds remarkably similar to the homeless woman's (not that there's anything wrong with that). You'll scrub your rug for at least 90 minutes, deem it unsalvagable, and your husband will leave on an overnight fishing trip because hello cruel world!, he needs to get away from it all.
Chances are, you'll eat 9 brownies before dinner because honestly, IS THERE A FREAKING POINT TO TRYING TO STAY SKINNY THESE DAYS? Since you're an above-average mother, you'll decide to share one of those treats with your 4-year-old boy, only to realize that he just ate the mocha one, flavored with 100% genuine Colombian dark roast coffee.
He will stay up until 10:30pm rearranging the artwork on his walls, changing his bedding (twice), and reorganizing the contents of his dresser drawers--all the while, wearing nothing but rubber underpants and a Christmas tie.
Eventually he will fall asleep, you will fall asleep, and your dog will have an acute intestinal flare-up at 2:15 in the morning. At least it's a beautiful night for a walk.
How was your weekend?
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)