The Room That Smelled Like Butt: A Mystery [in One Part]

About 7 or 8 days ago, I tweeted that Boy Wonder’s room smelled like butt. I began looking for the source that day.

Friends suggested looking in the hamper. Nothing unsavory there.

I looked under all the stuffed animals on the floor. No rotting food being hoarded away.

I had a peek under his bed. Not a trace of nastiness.

So, I went about my business. Maybe it was just a lingering odor from the kid himself. He is 7, after all, and is now able to produce noxious, manlike smells.

Now the small backstory to this is that around this time, Boy Wonder was having some digestive issues. A little constipation here and there, and sudden trips to the bathroom where he was complaining of his tummy hurting. Twice, he ignored his sphincter signals and had a few little skid mark moments. One of these moments, much to my disgust, happened at Burger King, where, after discovering that the Boy himself smelled like butt,I  made him remove his offensive underwear and go commando. Okay, skid mark is probably not the appropriate term to describe this particular accident.”Smear campaign” might be better. I did not salvage the tighty whities; rather, I threw them in the outdoor garbage can of Burger King for patrons to enjoy as they entered and exited, all the while muttering that I can’t believe my 7 year old just crapped his pants in BK.

Anyhow, Boy Wonder’s digestive issues seemed to have resolved themselves middle of last week. Yet every day when I’d go near his dresser to put laundry away, I’d still smell the butt smell. I’m always over by his dresser, putting clothes away. Every day, I’d stop, have a look around, and try to discover the source. Still nothing.

So this morning, the kids were off to vacation bible school, and it was crazy sock day. Boy Wonder hadn’t worn socks since the last day of school, so we went into his room to look for some crazy socks in his dresser.

Again with the butt smell!

I said, “Boy Wonder, I cannot for the life of me figure out why this area of your room smells like butt.”

Boy Wonder says, “Well, Mommy, it’s probably THESE.” And he reaches into his top dresser drawer, where his underwear live, and pulls out something washed up from the BP oil spill.

It is a pair of his briefs. They are completely brown, completely crusty, rancid, shit-covered briefs. This is not a skid mark, or a smear campaign. This is toxic waste.

I stand there for a moment. This would normally be the time that I start screaming at the top of my lungs. Did I really spawn a kid that ended up in the shallowest end of the gene pool? But I am in such disbelief, such disgust, and such horror that I can’t even muster up the angst to scream at him.

He has that really cute smile on his face. He is 7 and this is pretty funny to him. Anything with poop, burps, and farts is uproarious to a boy, and they come hard wired this way, I have learned.

I realize I have been piling more clean, sanitized underwear on top of this toxic waste for a week. The entire drawer is contaminated.

Finally, I get my grump on. I say, “Boy Wonder, what made you think that putting a pair of underwear, covered in your BACTERIA INFESTED POOP, back in your drawer was a good idea? Do you REALIZE that your POOP is full of DISGUSTING GERMS? That is why we tell you to WASH your HANDS after you POOP!”

Boy Wonder says, “I thought poop was just your food coming out!”

Again, I just sit there, perplexed. “Yeah, Mommy!”, Little CEO cries out in agreement with Boy Wonder. “Poop is just the rest of your food coming out of your BUTT!” The peanut gallery cracks up in laughter.

What have I raised here? Who are these cretons?

“Guys, yes, poop is the part of food that isn’t used by your body. But it’s STILL FETID AND WRETCHED!”

I send Boy Wonder off  to put his stool sample  in the garbage. I yell  “Where did you put the underwear?” “In the small garbage can,” Boy Wonder responds. “What small garbage can?” I yell back. “The one with no trash bag in it”, Boy Wonder yells back.

He has now put his ShitSac in the RECYCLING BIN. The one he learned about on Earth Day at school. Okay, I suppose that he could see this as recyclable….compost?

“Do you REMEMBER that is the RECYCLING BIN? Get it OUT of there and put it in the CAN with the TRASH BAG!” I bark.

We have a short discussion about not putting contaminates in his dresser drawer and he goes, pure-hearted but dirty-handed, to church camp. And I go to Target to buy a 5 pack of new underwear.

And I can’t believe I just wrote 860 words about shit covered briefs.

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