Take Mitchell to Work Day, Again

The office was a canvas. Mitchell was the artist.

His new caretaker - same age bracket, different energy - wore a vintage leather jacket that spoke of rebellion and possibility. Where the last caretaker was calm, this one vibrated with a nervous excitement that Mitchell could sense immediately.

Mitchell's Pampers peeked out from his shorts. His shirt sat just slightly off-center. A uniform of pure, unfiltered existence.

The fart came without warning. A thunderclap of bodily rebellion.

His caretaker froze. Blinked. Looked around the open-plan office with the terror of someone who knows something epic is about to go down.

"Oh no," he whispered. But Mitchell? Mitchell just giggled.

The load dropped. Silent. Massive. Absolute.

This caretaker wasn't prepared. No emergency kit. No practiced calm. Just pure, raw, unexpected parenthood condensed into a single moment of corporate chaos.

Mitchell's laugh echoed. The office held its breath.

Some moments are defined by perfection. This wasn't one of them.

This was Mitchell's world. Unplanned. Unfiltered. Unapologetically alive.

And somewhere, his previous caretaker smiled. Knowing that some stories are bigger than one person. Some journeys transcend understanding.

Mitchell. A new caretaker. The same extraordinary adventure.