33th? Phhhttt... been past my 33th for nearly eleventy-eight transits, now, if I still know how to read my sextant.
Nope, not spinach. That's the food my food eats.
Could've been something from the fancy mexican-fusion dive with the jellyfish aquarium.
Or the leftover Subway sammich I had for breakfast on the Day that Shall Not be Named.
Or, maybe my younger son using my toothbrush the night before (not that he'd do that intentional; He's a bright boy in many ways but lacks something in the way of "situational awareness", and while I'm pretty sure he's figured out that girls are different from boys in pleasant ways, he has not yet made logical connection between personal attractiveness and hygiene, and thus remains marginally lacking in one and significantly in the other. Which is to say, it would not generally be a good idea to use a toothbrush after him).
Regardless, my attempts at forensic analysis of the evacuate results were thwarted somewhat by getting kicked by horses in between fire-hose impersonations while doing voice-over work for Godzilla. So perhaps we'll never know.