I started a new diet last week. Last Thursday to be exact, so it has been one week. Also, I am doing a body cleanse and I have greatly intensified my intake of vitamins, minerals, and herbal supplements. Why am I telling you this? You shall see soon enough.
I would like to say for the record that I am aware that NOBODY makes doodie that smells good. It isn't the purpose of it to be pleasant to the olfactory nerves. When a substance is concentrated waste product, it should not remind one of sunshine and lollipops. Okay, maybe lollipops, depending on what you had for lunch.
But I digress. Kinda. To tie all of this up, thanks to the new diet and the supplements, I have been making more doodie than in the past, and it is noticeably more odiferous (even to me, which is saying something because it is a scientific fact that it never smells as bad to you as it does to everyone else). Because in Moleville there is a one person bathroom (unlike the rest of the floors which have the standard two stalls and at least one SRO), and because it has no exhaust and because it causes everyone who walks past to smell (and usually comment on it), I have been going upstairs to the multiple person bathroom where there is more room for the smell to dissipate and where there are little spritzer machines that pump potpourri into the air every 12 minutes on a rotating schedule. I like to use the handicap stall, mainly because I find it luxuriously spacious. It is probably as big as the bathroom at the house.
During a visit to the condo toilet this afternoon, while perusing an article I had printed off of CBS.com (I like to read articles that would normally take too long to read at my desk while "working"), I heard a youngster enter. Of course I could not see the child from my seat, but from hearing his voice I would suppose that he was 8-10 years old. Well, first he made a comment about how it smelled bad in the bathroom. But as he started to tinkle (I always felt like that was an underused euphemism), he said "Oh man, I'm gonna throw up!". And THEN, I was able to help set the boy on the straight and narrow. Following his declaration of the imminent possibility of regurgitation, he started saying repeatedly "Help me Jesus! Help me God! Help me Jesus! Help me Lord!" in no particular order. I am proud to say that he did not vomit (at least not audibly), and I am sure that the first breath of air he took in once he left the bathroom was the sweetest breath he had ever taken. And if I helped lead that boy to the Lord, well, than I am doing God's work, one stinky doodie at a time.