It doesn't get much Chuffing Worse.
Found something small and nasty looking in Youngest's bed.
Didn't have a colour or anything so was Quite Difficult to work out its Origins.
Picked offending thing up. Delicately, between finger and thumb. The size of a sultana. Or something.
Sniffed it. Held it up to the light.
Not a Poo. Definitely not.
Looked at it again. Had it held right to end of nose in efforts to see the damned thing.
Smelled it again.
What the Bloody Hell was this Thing in child's bed that looked Organic, like it may once have been Alive?
Light switched on in head. Finally.
It's a Bogey.
Old. Crusty. Nasty.
Threw it in horror onto floor. Watched it bounce across the floor before coming to final resting place under chest of drawers.
Reminded me of time I had picked up pair of Middle Son's pants when he was about three. Clean ones. Sweet little blue pants. Put them against my nose and tenderly breathed in the smell of clean, Persil-like 'outdoor hanging on the line' scent.
Were Day old Pants.
Overpowering scent of Wee. Clung to nose for hours afterwards.
Will. Never. Ever. Sniff. Pants. Again.
And I'll add picking up old Bogeys to that.
It's a glamorous life I live.