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This morning, 7am. I walk into J’s room.

Me: Good morning sweethe….Dear Sweet Jesus… What in the name of all that is holy is that smell?” (the stench forces me back into the hallway)

J: I farted.

Me: You’re 5. It’s against the law to make smells like that till you’re at least 15.

J: Really?

Me: Yes, now air this out before the police come to see what happened.

J: I farted a lot last night.

Me: This is leftover from last night?

J: Yes.

Me: Are you sick?

J: No, just farty.

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This is not my kid.
.

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