The day Bryan pooped on book club.

Last night, I was excited to host book club at my house. We’ve been meeting for nearly three years, but since my house is somewhat of an outlier to the primarily Broad Ripple-residing group, I’ve only hosted a handful of times.

I cleaned the house until nary a cat hair could be seen. I diffused essential oils for hours so the house not only smelled good, it would set the right mood. I made avocado and tomato sandwiches on crusty bread with hummus and homemade basil and sundried tomato pesto. I made spicy buffalo hummus and chopped a whole tray of veggies and grilled pita bread until it was warm and oily. I even compiled a book club playlist! The house was set for success.

The ladies came over and we sipped on sparkling wine and lemon water whilst discussing The History of Love. “Oh, the pesto? Yes, I made it. Thank you.” “Yes, my house is always this clean.” “You’re right, this song does set the mood perfectly. Thank you for noticing.”

When we were finished and I was loading the dishwasher with plates and glasses, Bryan came downstairs from his hiding place.

“So, did you see my surprise?” he asked.

“No…” I hesitated. “What surprise?”

He smirked and pointed to the china cabinet, which was freshly dusted and filled with a perfectly-arranged assortment of vintage knick-knacks.

Atop the cabinet sat a pile of fake poop.

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