The poor dogs got blamed again.

Now, if you have a low tolerance for talking bodily functions or your gag reflex is already high due to pregnancy or just because you are odd, then this isn't the post for you. Come back tomorrow but for now, find a blog that is all roses and pretty.

Cause this isn't the place for you right now. That is your one and only warning. I promised that I would start making you all throw up in your mouths again and I fully intend to do that.

My dogs are always blamed for foul smells. Mainly because their breath does smell of rotting garbage 90% of the time. I brush their teeth, I give them doggy breath mints, I give them tums sometimes because Scooby has a tummy issue anyway and the tums double as a fruity scent. But for some God Awful reason, their breath continues to make me turn green.

So. My daughter was running a muck around the house, her friend was here doing homework (yes. I am a mother of many young, mouthy pre-hormonal girls. It bites!), my husband was laying on the couch sick, I was incoherent on the opposite side of the couch because it was time for bed, Vamp, the eldest dog, was inspecting the floor for any signs of scrap food (because she is a hog.) and Scooby, the youngest dog was needing some attention. The dogs are not permitted on our furniture however, Scooby will try to inconspicuously try and crawl onto your lap. She is a Lab and Vamp is a German Shepard/Lab and yes...they both believe they are lap dogs.

Scooby tried to sneak her way onto my lap. And then I smelled it. It was similar to a dead fish, a ashtray, a little bit of rotting meat and a whiff of spoiled milk. It was vulgar.

I instantly pushed her off my lap and turned green. I said something like:

"Good Lord, her breath is foul. Oh My. I think she is sick."

I was very worried that her insides started to die and that was the reason for that horrendous smell. My daughter stopped in her tracks and went into panic mode. "Oh no mom. Is she dying? She cannot die. I love her. Take her to the Vet NOW. You have to MOM. NOW!"

Her friend had a glazed look over her eyes as she was probably worried that Sheylee was going to spaz out and have a seizure or something terrible.

I was still swallowing vomit.

And then I saw it. My husband. Silently curled up under his blanket, trying to not laugh out loud. And I remembered. I remembered being ripped out of my dreams last night and into a stinky reality as his ass was singing a sickening tune. The air biscuits were lethal. And I am not being dramatic.....his ass stink woke me up from a dead sleep.

It's sorta slow motion for me now, but I remember coming to the realization that it wasn't the poor dog who almost suffered a trip to the vet, a colon cleanse and another teeth brushing round. And then I noticed even the dogs themselves were gagging and running to save their lives.

"You S.O.B.! Did you do that? You gross, putrid, PIG. You were going to let poor Scooby take the fall for you? You are a JERK."

He continued to laugh, I stuck a can of Febreeze up his hole, Sheylee finally settled down enough for me to tell her that her Dad was the one who was rotting inside his body, her friend continued on with her shirt over her nose the dogs were hiding somewhere (no doubt sniffing their own ass just to smell something better.) and I died. CPR was performed, George Cloony miraculously showed up to perform mouth to mouth, and Noah Wylie gave me a breast exam.

What? After that incident I needed to put something good in here.

Now excuse me while I go kick my husband in the head. Have a good day.