“Hey Brad, come here. There’s a weird smell in the kitchen.”
“Screw that! Smell your own farts!”
My children don’t trust me. “Dude, seriously, there’s something in this kitchen that smells like a dirty plate left for too long – but the sink is empty for a change.”
Brad came around the counter suspiciously. “Yeah, I smell it too. I can’t tell where it’s coming from. Hey Richie! What do you think this smells like?”
“Did you fart?”
It’s my own fault really. One of my central beliefs is that if someone asks you to smell something, you probably don’t want to. I seem to have taught that to my kids. We finally convinced Richie to come into the kitchen, and lifted him up to the area I thought the smell was coming from. He gagged and tried to squirm away.
I have to admit, watching his face as he gags over a bad smell or a bad taste brings me a lot of joy. That’s the main reason I feed him vegetables.
Richie pointed to a shelf. “It’s coming from there.”
I dug around and finally found one of those covers you put over a plate before microwaving it. There was a tiny splash of very old beans that hadn’t been cleaned from it. I abandoned all caution and brought it right up to my nose.
And instantly made Richie’s vegetable face.
I bought this thing from the dollar store, so I would rather go buy another than actually try to wash it. Into the garbage it went.