Thursday, December 08, 2011

That Ain't Old Spice

It took me a few minutes to figure it out. (I'm not as bright as I used to be, I guess.)

Conor and I were in his bathroom, getting him ready to take his shower.  He's pretty independent, but still needs prompting to put his clothes in the laundry basket, to lift the toilet seat, and to stay on track.

"Mommy!" Conor squealed in his happy, snuggly voice, and came over to give me a hug, half undressed.

Sniff, sniff.  What was that smell? I thought as I hugged Conor back.  I looked at the laundry basket.

Did Jimmy put his running clothes in the kids' basket?  Why would he do that?

Then I looked down at Conor.  Well, not really down since he's only three inches shorter than me, but when I turned my nose down to Conor, I figured it out.

His pits stank.  Stank-y stank. End-of-the-day working-hard-in-the-fields stank.

Oh. My. God.


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