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I don’t have shit to write about, so its either buy out or I’ll just list all the crap that comes to my mind with this topic.
A Memory:
When my dad thought someone yammered on for too long he’d say the person had diarrhea of the mouth.
A Movie Scene:
One of my faves was the candy bar in the swimming pool scene in Caddyshack, when Bill Murray grabs the chlorine-soaked chocolate bar and joyfully eats it while panicked pool patrons watch in shock and disgust.
Child-Rearing:
When my first kid was a pissy, terrible two-year-old (or a “two-nager” as an LJ /FB friend used to call it), she was being ornery and much to my dismay, smeared her toddler dookie on the bathroom wall one evening. I gave her butt wipes and made her clean the tiles. It never happened again.
Child-Rearing Event “Number 2”…he…he…he…, See what I did there?
The first time my same kid, (age three this time), had to use a port-o-let because we were at a Tall Stacks riverboat festival and the only toilets available were those vile, traumatizing portable commodes. When we entered the potty-booth, she took one look down that hell-hole and screamed “OH MY GOD!”
A Song:
Who remembers the novelty tune “Shaving Cream”? I was 13 when this song hit the pop radio stations. https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=l4RbM-Zysxg&ra=m. When my innocent, junior high mindset heard this song, I found it hilarious.
Oh! I Can’t Forget the Airplane Ride From Hell:
The summer my dad died, (1996), my kids were ages 6 and 3. It was a miserable and heartbreaking trip to Florida, but while there, in the midst of grief and family chaos, a shining moment occurred. My 3-year-old daughter, (not the poop-on-the-bathroom-wall kid, but the other one), became fully potty trained. It was a small but helpful win during a very dark time. When we flew home I made sure we’d all emptied out prior to boarding the Delta jet. About 30 minutes into the flight, somewhere over Atlanta, turbulence hit hard. Storms were all around us. (You could describe it as a “shit-storm”.) The plane shook as the captain turned on the seatbelt light and asked for everyone to be seated. My older daughter, a super-sleeping beauty by nature was dozing in La-La-Land, fear-free. However, Nature called loudly and fiercely to my three-year-old. “Poop comin’ !” she announced. Now what? I told her she’d have to hold it, but what does a novice toilet trainee know about that? (Keep in mind, this happened prior to 911, so some rules were slightly less enforced then, or I could have been arrested.) We unbuckled because she was crying at this point, not due to fear on the airplane, but in fear that she would go in her new Princess Jasmine undies. We started working our way to the airplane potty which luckily was catty-corner to our seats. The flight attendant wanted us back and buckled in, but all I could tell her with a hysterical toddler clinging to me for dear life, was that my child needed to go number-two and the choice was to poop in the airplane seat or get to a toilet now. We promised just to go and not even wash our hands. She reluctantly let us by. Inside the broom-closet-sized airplane pot I literally had to hold my child down because her booty kept flying off the seat with all the bumps. I had to pin myself across her with my back against one wall and my feet pushing into the opposite wall, acting as a human seat restraint while she relieved herself. Her tears stopped as soon as her crisis had passed. Luckily I had wipes in my mom-bag for getting her cleaned back up and took care of that back in our airplane seats. Lucky for everyone on board, my six-year-old had slept through the whole episode, unscathed and clueless.
I could add on with some assorted cat poop stories, like this past summer when our kitty, Lily-Loo, (AKA The Loo), had to have an enema, but I will pause right there. I’ve shared enough droppings for one entry, I suspect.
