Recently, a cat bowel moved on our laundry room floor.
And so, the little cat feces lay there, day after day, month after month. Until.....
We shut the door and waited.
But the magic water let us down. When it had receded into mold, we gasped at what was left behind.
Meanwhile, things got worse.
I stopped believing in the power of showers to clean me.
Instead, I foolishly trusted in the scratchy surfaces of my blankets to exfoliate my body while I tossed and turned in my sleep.
It didn't work and I became stinky.
In the night time, we sat atop piles of a clean and dirty laundry mix, diapers carefully wrapped in plastic bags and then left on the floor, and random trash strewn about because we don't know what to do when a garbage can is full.
It was our lowest point we had ever been to as a couple.
We knew we had to change.
That night, my wife tenderly bathed me.
It was very romantic, as they say. Like having a live-in nurse or caretaker.
The best part was when my wife finally cleaned up the poop, because a plumber was coming and we did not want to be embarrassed.