Got home from a shocking day at work full of true arseholes and a seemingly endless assault of bad news to find Thumb Man has made his horrid return. Walk right on by, kiss my husband and go inside where I’m immediately bitch slapped in the face by a funk like no other. Immediately Thumb Man’s bowels come to mind. Either he’s taken a toxic dump in our toilet to once again mark his territory or a family of mutant rats have died in the roof and are oozing their foul essence into the rafters.
AIBU to tell Thumb Man to poo elsewhere from now on? Please be kind. I’ve saged the house to expel the demon stench but find myself still saturated by it as we speak.
*I’ve written about Thumb Man before. Thankfully not for some time as I’ve made my dislike of him clear. In short, he’s a repellant friend of DH’s whose poor hygiene is a direct reflection of his mind.