Why am I in charge of smelling everything?

Hubby: Do you think son #1 pooped?
Me (cooking dinner): I would have no idea.

He then walks up to me, holding said son, and puts his diapered butt in my face. Um, yeah…smells like poop.

Hubby: Which one of these is a formula bottle, and which one is a milk bottle?
Me (in the shower): Um, I can’t remember, just smell one.
Hubby: But they both smell gross to me, here.

He then shoves an open soy bottle under my nose. Um, yep…smells like disgusting soy formula, not like milk. Another mystery solved.

Hubby: Is this lunch meat bad?
Me (doing our taxes): Does it look bad?
Hubby: Nope, looks like roast beef to me.
Me (highly annoyed and sighing over dramatically): Does it smell ok?
Hubby: Ugh, I don’t know, you smell it.

He shoves the bag under my nose. Um, yeah…it’s bad, and the bag says turkey, not roast beef…so, you really could’ve called that one on sight, genius.

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