We three were standing around the mixer (Baby on a chair), riveted in groupthink by the bread hook. I smelled poo poo.
Me: “Oh, did you go poo poo?”
Baby: “No!”
Me: “I smell poo poo! Did you make some poo poo?”
Baby: “No!”
Me: “Let me check. I’m pretty sure you went poo poo…hm, no poo poo. Well, something smells horrible.”
Husband: “Honey, I farted.”
