At the eye doctor’s office the other day, a technician put my five year old son in an exam chair, then sat down on her rolling stool.
My son asked, “Mom, do you smell that?”
As I quickly looked for sand to bury my head in, I said, “No. I don’t smell anything.”
Even though I knew something bad was coming, that poor lady didn’t have a clue. Not even when my son sniffed the air again and said, “I smell something Mom.”
And, as the technician rolled closer to him, and he took in the full aroma, he said, “I smell something…and it smells like my poop.”