Do you know those magazines they sell called "True Confessions!"? They come out with a new one on a regular basis, and it's like Penthouse letters for women. They're meant to be little titillating stories for housewives to read when they're in between doing the dishes and perhaps making the loaves of bread from scratch for the next week. I used to buy them when I was ten, because I thought they were slightly naughty. They weren't. But I didn't know that.
Huck woke me up this morning at four fifty-eight in his standard manner*, and before I could get him outside (like as soon as I woke up), I smelled something foul. Now, Huck is slightly gassy, so that didn't necessarily mean anything, but I thought I'd turn the light on and look just to make sure. Guess what I found in the standard location?
If you guessed a few really stinky turds, you win!
I took him outside anyway, just to make doubly sure he had it all out of his system, and he made only a half-hearted attempt at a squat. Really it was more for my benefit. The point of waking me up was the same reason all those women write into those "True Confessions" magazines at the grocery stores. Sometimes, you've just got to tell someone, that's all. Then you feel better.
*Lightly jump on bed, lick Mama on nose, whine. Repeat with increasing frequency of whine until effective.
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