It was getting dicey there for awhile. I was verging on hysterical and muttering some not so nice things under my breath about over-inquisitive toddlers.
But, having ascertained previously mentioned missing iPod was not in the usual places, and even the not so usual, but still not totally disgusting to check out ones, I steeled myself for battle. With the emotional support of a Blue Moon Harvest Ale and a bag of peanut butter M&Ms I went places I had hoped to never have to sink my hands.
Yep, I went dumpster-diving.
OK, we really don't keep a dumpster in the house, but I did rummage through the kitchen garbage. And when the bathroom can rattled solidly when shaken, I went there too. At which point I was facing down the horrible, so I rechecked all the usual and not so horrible places, this time with my fingers crossed.
Nope. Just not there.
Realizing I had to do it, because if I didn't that would so be where it was and I would never seen my poor lonely pod again, I did it. I went through the diaper pail.
Yes, it was really that bad. There was gagging.
And while a cell phone, several packets of vitamins, various plastic "guys" and several dollars in change were there amidst the fermenting poo packets, no iPod ran into my waiting arms.
At which point I threw a mini fit and paced about my room hurling invectives hither and yon, coupled with all the appropriate arm gestures.
And I tripped over one of the dog beds.
And there it was, hiding out under the big ball of fluff.
And once again all was right with the world...after a thorough decontamination that is.