Handsome slipped out of bed to destroy the bookcase while I slept for a couple more minutes. In addition to taking the books out of order of size, page thickness, binder color and the other 15 methods I have of control-freak organizing the books, Handsome defecated in his diaper. Now I say defecate because it's the polite way of saying that he took a dump that wasn't necessarily the biggest or most panic-inducing, but certainly the first in recent history where my nostrils began to burn from across the room. I'm not going to say that it smelled like roadkill that had already been partially digested by a large python and then spit back up onto a hot roadway to simmer in 100 degree weather. I will say that I questioned if our house had been relocated to the center of a sewer water treatment facility where they air out and purify the poop of a whole city.

I am going to put the diaper of destruction into a Target bag, hang it in the garage of a vacant, non-air conditioned house in the middle of Arizona in July, and then ship it over to be used for a biological weapon. Sort of the atomic bomb of diapers. You have to let it stew and ferment before using it to end the war. It will take the largest crane available in the Northern Hemisphere to lift it by that point, since it is expanding as we speak, developing rudimentary brain cells and nerve endings. The stench affects you by making the blood rush out of your extremities and up to protect your brain, leaving you unable to walk on the pins and needles to remove the diaper from the house. Someone check on me in 12 hours. It will have expanded to fill the master bathroom by that point, and I can only hope that it knocks a window out so that fresh air can sneak around it to reach my nose, thereby releasing my mind's hold on my body's oxygen and allowing me to call Animal Control to come and remove it to the vacant garage in Arizona.