So last night my son had a friend stay the night.  As they’re both five, I saw no harm in their request to take a bath together before bed.  That is, until a scream alerted me to an intruder in the bath…

A chocolate log.  Apparently laughter can make a five year old lose control of his sphincter muscle.

I’ve never had a problem with cleaning up my son’s poo.  But there is something hardwired into the brain that makes my own flesh and blood’s faeces completely tolerable, but the mere sight of someone else’s makes me run screaming for the hills.  Gross.  Gross.  GROSS.