Caring is a dirty job, but someone has to do it. I'm a home to home carer, usually looking after older ladies and gents, who need prompting to take medication, need assistance with washing etc. Now I love this job, even with the amount of literal shit I have to deal with, except for a few clients. Client 1, an obese guy who is bed bound (self inflicted obviously) and is disgusting in body and personality. He's sexist, he asks young female carers to "touch my dick", he's asked me to " get deeper when wiping his ass, then moans disgustingly. He has diabetic sores all over his legs and the smell is putrid. I refuse to see this pig anymore. Client 2 is a she-beast, morbidly obese. It's a hoarder as well, (the smell was so bad I nearly gagged, and its hard to make me gag) so my gloves when straight on and stayed on until I left the house. It wanted a wash, fine, that's my job. It let me wash its back, but stopped me washing its folds. Why? Because "I can't dry them properly, so I just talc them" shudder. I just smile and say " OK " because I have to. One of its legs was wrapped in bandages. I gently ask about it, and it says "I've got diabetes, its messing my leg up. It'll be alright though." My blood boiled. It started asking me about my life, and I just had to take the opportunity to subtly shitlord. I told it that I cycle to work, doing between 8-16 miles a day depending on my rota, that I make time for the gym at least twice a week to do my weights etc. It just laughed and told me it was because I was young, and that I'd get fat one day. This bison goes on to talc each fold, its nipples only coming into view after much unfolding of flaps. The smell got a little better, until it asked me to get it dressed. It's clothes were filthy! I offered to get clean ones, but it said that it could "get another day or so out of it". The trousers smelled the worst. It was a mouldy, pissy smell.  I got confused with its trousers, thinking they were inside out. Nope, they weren't. The reason I was confused was that the stitching was so big (to hold so much fabric together) that I thought they were inside out. It finally got dressed, it requested that I wash up. I started to do that when I saw the bowls. They were child bowls. You know the ones with farm animals on it, bright colours? Yep, she eats out of children's bowls. Ok, not so bad yeah? Kids cutlery, kids cups, literally a tippy cup! It doesn't have kids, lives on its own. Want to know the worst part of it all? Its 56.  I have 94 year olds who can walk, make their own food, keep their houses clean, and this fupatrooper can't even keep the beetus from taking its leg.