Sunday, September 25, 2011

Well, This Stinks


In honor of the great Shel Silverstein's birthday today, and because the depths of my nerdiness apparently know no limits, today's post comes to you in verse. 

Baby N was out good, asleep on my lap,
As I fried my brain with T.V.,
When up through the air, rose a terrible stench—
What could that nastiness be?

I gave a sniff in the diaperous region—
(The culprit I first suspected)
But the baby was as sweet as a fresh-powdered bum,
My hunch, it seemed, misdirected.

I carefully stood, put N in her swing,
And turned off Dr. Oz.
The reek still remained, taunting me, and
I had to know its cause.

I checked out the kitchen with its dishes and trash,
Sure I would find the source.
The can overflowed with veggies and rot
So I took it out, of course.

But alas when I entered my unkempt house,
The smell had not dispersed.
If anything, though I opened the windows,
The odor had grown worse.

I rolled up my sleeves and got to work,
Vowing to uproot the stink.
Maybe I’d find a forgotten sandwich
From when, I hated to think.

But there was no sandwich or abandoned diaper,
Or a long lost bowl of slaw. (Thank goodness).
I did, however, pass a mirror
And what do think you think I saw?

Well, I found the source of the Odorous Funk:
Not cheddar, nor swiss, nor brie.
Curdled breastmilk on my shoulder lie—
The source of the stench was me!

Ew! Double ew!

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