Hubby had apparently eaten something that refused to agree with him. It was making itself known—how shall I put this?—in a decidedly unpleasant olfactory way.
It was to the point of almost needing a gas mask to breathe in the kitchen.
I was really ready for him to leave for work.
Needless to say, I was very careful in how I hugged him before he left. (I didn't want to squeeze too hard.)
Small Fry was sitting on the little storage bench in the kitchen that holds hats, gloves, and mittens.
"Bye, Daddy! I love you!" she chirped.
There was a slight pause.
"No huggies, 'cause you'wre stinky!"