So a couple weeks ago I had a chit chat with Gage about Santa. Most importantly I wanted to know if he truly believed in Santa anymore because I really didn't want to buy him a bunch more presents from "Santa". After a very awkward conversation, where I'm still not sure if I actually ruined Christmas for him or not, it was put out there that when a kid turns 13, Santa turns the reigns over to the Christmas Dragon who brings a stocking full of goodies and leaves a Christmas poop floater in the toilet for the morning. Gage thought this was much cooler than Santa and was completely ok with it.
Well, much to my chagrin, last night Karma got the better of me. When I came home from a birthday party and went up to my bedroom I took great notice that my room smelled like a big, steaming, pile of shit. I took the entire tour of my room looking for the culprit and came up empty handed. So after going through the Christmas presents I got from Margie at the party, I climbed into my bed and discovered a huge pile of fresh poop. I suspect it wasn't the Christmas Dragon but either a master poet or a fluffball with both an identity and sexuality crisis. I hadn't noticed it prior because it was sitting all snug in my bed on my amazing new brown sheets.
Have I mentioned how much I hate cats? Well I hated them last night at 1 a.m. while I was running a load of laundry and changing my sheets.