So, why is it that anytime something smells funky in my house, everyone looks at me?
"Daddy!!!..." I hear said, in an I-can't-believe-he's-at-it-again tone.
Sure, I'll admit some responsibility on occasion, but I'm not always at fault!
This weekend, my 6-yr-old daughter had an upset stomach.
On Friday, she went home early from school after complaining that her belly was hurting. We thought it had something to do with her older sister going away for the weekend to see her cousins in Washington, D.C. (our daughters can be a bit melodramatic at times; I wonder where they get it?). However, when my wife got home from work, she was already in bed and wearing her pajama (it was about 3:30pm, which just doesn't happen).
By the time I got home, she was feeling a little better and said she wanted to go out to dinner. However, at dinner, she did not eat a thing and as soon as we walked in our house, she threw up in the living room (Friday nights are just not what they used to be). Afterwards, we figured that whatever was ailing her, she would probably feel better in the morning.
In the morning, she spit up a couple more times, mostly bile since she had nothing in her stomach, but then started feeling better. By early afternoon, she was well enough to go to (yet another) birthday party for a classmate in South Miami (I tell you, since the beginning of the school year, not one weekend has gone by without a party). That night, she actually wanted pasta and ate pretty well.
But, Sunday morning, she finally went to the bathroom. It wasn't pretty. It was poor liquid. I know because she called me to help her wipe (one of the perks of being a dad). The stench was suffocating and lingered in our master bathroom after I flushed, spilling into our bedroom.
As my wife came into the room about 15 minutes later, she said, "My goodness, Carlos, what a stench! (aka que peste!) You're stinking up the house!"
O.k., was that really called for?