...so I can have a quiet, non-dog-headbutting place to spin. I just got home from work and, being the responsible and dedicated housekeeper I am, immediately set about tidying up. I picked some rubbish and moved a box over and there it was. Poop. A lot of poop. A huge stash of poop. Al Capone's secret vault of poop.I pride myself on my sleuthing abilities. In another time and place, I could have made it as a film noir style detective. I like saying things like "broads" and "dames" and "the game's up, buster," and other stuff I imagine film noir detectives would say. (Although, now that you mention it: NO, I guess I haven't actually watched any film noir detective movies. Why do you ask?)
Anyway, the point is: Nobody hides contraband poop in MY guest bedroom and gets away with it. I'll get to the bottom of this. (Get it? Poop? Bottom?)
So far, there are too many potential culprits to identify the offender with total certainty. (Jennifer, when you came by on Saturday, did you happen to poop in my guest bedroom seventy-three times? How 'bout you, Mom?) Only forensic examination will tell me for sure who did it.
HOWEVER, I have my suspicions.
3 comments:
I have an alibi.
It was Bailey, she's always leaving her poop everywhere we go.
It was me. Sorry.
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