It's like he's using one of those toilets in Spain where you straddle a hole in the ground. Except we're not in Spain. And we own actual toilets.

It is now three times in as many weeks that a foul, foul smell has led me upstairs to our computer room where I see Matthew standing up at the computer keyboard, completely engrossed in a game, with his legs spread wide apart so he won't step in his own shit laying in a clump on the floor.