I discovered a new weapon of mass destruction

I consider this space to be a sort of baby book for Fifi. Not the traditionally cutesy baby book with snippets of first haircuts and bathtub pictures, obviously but it does give a pretty accurate snapshot of our life. And I need plenty of snapshots because I suck at keeping photographic evidence of anything. For one, I can never find the camera and two, she’s always nekkid. Take tonight for instance, Daniel’s on all fours and she’s on his back getting a ride around the house. Nekkid fanny. I said “I wish I could take a picture but she’s nekkid.” I don’t know how many pictures you could reasonably possess of your child that say ‘These are normal and every parent has them’ before it crosses into abnormal territory but I don’t intend to find out. So there. I don’t have many pictures of my beloved firstborn because she is a nudist. Instead, I must rely on my penchant for “descriptive language” (read: the f word) and my ability to weave vivid imagery with words.

 Allow me to paint a picture about the latest happenings in this house. My MIL has a very large basement and two bedrooms that her sons no longer occupy. All three rooms are filled with anything your heart could desire. Fifi’s heart desired Mickey Mouse perfume and Grandmaw does not disappoint. She told me that Fifi had found it and she didn’t want to tell her no. Fine. That’s what grandparents are for-to spoil the babies and give them all kinds of unsuitable gifts the parents would never agree to. I take issue with the fact that she lied to me about the perfume. She said “I told her to be careful so she doesn’t spray it in her eyes. It’s really just colored water and I think she wanted it because it has Mickey on the bottle.” Let us examine the previous sentence: “…it’s really just colored water…” has got to be the boldest lie I have ever heard in the history of lies.

 I’m gonna tell you what this vile aroma really is.

 It is an undiscovered biological weapon.

 Fifi loves to spray and spray and spray and then spray some more. The revolting smell hangs in the air like a mushroom cloud. It NEVER dissipates. And then I walk right through it. It brings me to my knees. I think it’s the sister of chloroform; my senses are instantly assaulted and my life flashes before my eyes. A friend suggested that perhaps I could get the lid off the bottle to dump the wretched liquid out and replace it with water.

The fucking lid does not come off.

 I tried.

 And even if I could get it off to dump it out, I have no idea where I would safely dispose of it. I worry that it could pollute the ground water if I poured it down the sink or dumped it outside. Wildlife exposed to the repulsive odor would probably instantly kill over and I’m not trying to have a pile of bird and raccoon carcasses in my backyard. My neighbor’s cats might enjoy that a little too much if they could somehow stand to get near the heap of bodies. Perhaps dead animal rot is the only thing that could mask the stench of this “perfume.”

 I successfully hid the bottle for a week or so. And then one day it happened. She found it. I didn’t know she found it until I walked right through the cloud. Talk about a shocking way to start the morning.

Perfume for my preschooler can now go on the list of gifts that shall never cross the threshold of this house. The list also includes Barbies, Bratz Dolls, Monster High dolls, booty shorts, belly shirts, body piercing jewelry, ingredients to make a pipe bomb, lawn darts and anything that sings but does not have an off button.