Driving the children to school today was wonderful. Sitting in traffic. Listening to the twins simultaneously beat each other and laugh. Basking in the humidity that is October in St. Louis. While I sat there at the wheel, fielding questions and pretending to break up fights, an aroma crossed the helm.
Not like the nice kind you get when entering Costco while they’re cooking those magical pumpkin pies. No, this aroma was disgusting. Not quite like the smell that emanates from the L’Oreal factory in Clark, NJ – that one is disgusting but somehow fruity. And also not quite like that of the dog food factory that apparently is connected to the James Madison University campus in VA. On a hot, rainy day that stench will melt your pupils.
This smell, friends, was rotten. As the stink laid itself over top of all my other senses, my sense of Parental Intuition That Your Kids Are Fucking Around was triggered by the conspiratorial tones and giggling coming from the middle row of our cupcake delivery van. So, at a red light (so many red lights), I turned around to see the twins pointing and laughing at SOMETHING inside the little known and seldom used center console storage compartment.
When I calmly inquired “Children, what are you examining”, they slammed it shut and looked at me wide eyed, replying “Why Father…nothing”. When I implored they show me, they seemed to take joy in presenting me with the fruits of their labor. It took me a minute of staring, and gagging, to see through the mold and garbage to determine the little shits had stored a leftover blueberry pancake in this tightly enclosed space…many days ago. So I took a DEEEEEP breath and asked them to refrain from such activities in the future.
I then had a fleeting thought of who would be laughing at who were I to give them each a nice swirlie before bed.