misAdventures of Workmonkey 3.0

Last Monday, Jill I and returned home to find a quarter-sized poo-like substance on our bathroom rug. When we left for work that morning, neither of us can remember poo on our rug. Even though I am not much in the mornings, I'd like to think I'd notice:

a) If poo already existed on the bathroom rug OR
b) If I poo'd on the rug

Jill's first instinct was to blame Stephen, who she thought may have entered our bathroom during the day and smeared poo on the rug. Upon thinking it over even more, her instinct went towards me, due to the large number of poos I take on a given day (I poo more in one day than you probably poo in a week. Active digestion system. Out of my control). I took offense at her charges. I am a clean freak, and somewhat retentive when it comes to my anus, and thus there is simply no way in which I would accidentally place poo upon the rug. I mean, the only thing I could possibly imagine is have some trace amounts left over on my hands, but I wash my hands diligently after defecation. And besides, if I did have poo residue, it'd be on my hands, not my feet. I have never wiped my ass with my feet. The other surprising point is that the poo was a good distance away from the toilet, so it isn't like some spontaneously generated poo ball shot out of the toilet in a mad dash for freedom. It was just there.

My theory turned to an animal. Perhaps a very large roach could shit that much, or some bird that entered through the shaft-window in our bathroom. Regardless, after scrubbing it clean with Fantastik! cleaning spray, the poo ball left my rug, as well as my mind.

Last night, near sleep, Jill storms into the bedroom and demands to know how a very similarly-sized poo nugget made it upon her white bathroom towel. Investigation revealed her story was accurate. Somehow a poo ball made it upon her white towel.

While I had accepted that perhaps a random poo accident had happened in our bathroom on one occasion, there is NO WAY it occurred twice in one week. After pooing, I scrub my hands for thirty seconds. No way a poo ball that big remains. There has to be another explanation. The thing is, it looks like poo, and feels like poo, but doesn't smell like poo. I have now accepted the theory that either:

a) We are haunted by a ghost with a poo problem.
b) This isn't poo, but some other dirt element, most likely from the shower.

I like my first thought best. All these years, people thought ghosts said "Boo!" I think we've misunderstood all these years. The ghost said "Poo!". All they want is for us to build a chain of ghost toilets so they can empty their ghost anuses of poo balls. Either that, or my poos are alive, and fleeing the confines of my toilet trying to go out into the world, sadly only making it as far as Jill's white towels.