My son was sitting up in the big bed. He was nude, doona (1) pulled up to his waist. In his hands was his mum's iPhone. He was absorbed in it, his lips apart in wrapped objectification, the screen illuminating his chest and face.
Aw. I watched him for a while. It was then that absolute rankest fart I'd done in the toilet - courtesy of an ill fated full-steam-ahead decision the night before to have ice-cream - wafted nastily about and caused me to gag. I stumbled into the bathroom for the Aqua mist and quickly repelled the fart smell with lavender goodness.
Yes ... my lovely watching my progeny at play ... had been ruined by my very own arsehole, and the ill arsewind that had blown through it.
Nice one ... dad.
(1) Duvet in the non Ozzer parlance.