Why I Took a Fat Dump in a Trash Can at Work


I wasn’t always a stay-at-home parent.

Once upon four children ago — well, once upon three and-a-half children ago, pregnancy considered —I got a “real” job. A job for which somebody paid me in U.S. dollars rather than fully-funded trips to Safeway and ill-placed loads of semen.

No, I was not a sex worker — at least not for anybody but my breadwinner spouse. But this job was surprisingly close. I worked as a companion and helper for aging seniors who needed in-home caregiving.

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