Cleaning up from breakfast this morning, I noticed a funky smell in the kitchen and asked Wyatt to come take out the trash. He looked with disdain at the things I was mixing in the crockpot and gave a suspicious sniff, as if molasses, beans, and bacon could be causing the problem.
No, I assured him, meat scraps in the garbage were undoubtedly the source.
Still unconvinced, he lifted the bag out slowly, set it on the floor, bent over, put his head right down in the trash can and sucked in a deep breath.
This was followed by surprised (!) exclamations of disgust and much other dramatic self-expression.
Because, you know, when you're a 13 year old boy you just can't take Mom's word for it, now can you?