And a hint of poo

This afternoon I went out to enjoy the warm day. It was in the mid 70s here. While outside, I decided to trim up my dogs - which is a nasty and stinky job.

My plan, all along, had been to finish up with the dogs and go in and take an early shower. Well . . .

Steve came home and ran in to take a leak. Since it took him quite a while to come back out I figured he something must have come up. (giggle) When finished with the dogs I went back into the house and washed my hands in the kitchen sink. I walked towards the bathroom but the odor prevented me from getting closer than 15 feet to the door.

For no apparent reason, other than I'm old, female, and crotchety, I was pissed at Steve for making it impossible for me to take a shower. A shower he had no way of knowing I was planning on taking.

I grumbled, complained. and went to play on the computer. He came in a few moments later and tells me its all better. The bathroom smells of burnt match, candles, and a hint of poo. His phrasing tickled my funny bone and I had to reply, "Sounds like my life. Everything is great with a slight hint of poo."

Odd, how some things once said never go away.

All evening we've been picking at each other. Coming up with new ways to use the phrase "hint of poo", to describe out lives in ways that end with "a hint of poo".