Poo does NOT go there.Submitted by Ducky at 2008-03-30 22:26:11 EDT
Rating: 1.79 on 34 ratings (34 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
I may not be the brightest crayon in the pack. I have even been accused of being “naïve” at times, to the point of being called “BubbleGirl” by a couple of my friends. Okay, okay, okay, okay, so I only have a couple of friends.
Okay fine…one friend.
So WHAT if I have to buy her affection in the form of Mary Kay products?
Anyway, that’s not what this is about. This is about something that I DO know about...something that I...admittedly stupidly...assumed that EVERYONE would know about.
The other day, we had a big family dinner thing. This was particularly nice because we had one of my aunts come from out of town – she here to divorce herself from a fuckwit who looked a bit like Hulk Hogan if Hulk Hogan weighed 120 pounds and had a low sloping forehead. This knuckle-dragger actually wrote in his affidavit that he felt that my aunt had drugged his drinks, causing him to pass out and then fuck her. He stated that this MUST BE THE ONLY LOGICAL EXPLANATION because he would NEVER NORMALLY SLEEP WITH SOMEONE LIKE HER. I kept reading, because I didn’t recall seeing him shackled and ball-gagged as he was OBVIOUSLY FORCED into marrying her, having two children with her, and staying with her for 7 years. He also included in there that he never used any drugs or alcohol while they were married and added three lines down that yes, he did get a DUI the previous year, but it was because she had driven him to drink…and he smoked the reefer (I LIKE calling it the reefer) frequently to calm his nerves. MORON. And she was a moron for going for it. I call it Florence Nightingale syndrome.
The good part of all of this comes in the form of my two adorable cousins. One is 8 years old, and the other is 2. I hadn’t previously seen what can result during the age referred to as “terrible two”…but that all changed that evening.
My aunt, seeing that there were a number of us there, decides to sneak out for a cigarette (I can’t even type that without craving one…and I quit in fucking August). As the door closes I hear Julie, the youngest, calling out to nobody in particular that she has to go to the bathroom. “Baffroom! Baffroom!” I walk over and she’s looking at me. I pointed at the bathroom and said “so go”.
She giggled and said “I POO”.
“That’s nice” I said, and walked away.
Moments later I hear cackling coming from the washroom. I walk over and there’s Julie, door open…standing in front of the toilet with a wad of clearly used toilet paper the size of Cuba held tightly in her little fist.
“POO” she screams.
“Erm…that needs to go in the toi…”
“Yes Jules, but you need to…”
It was too late. As my mother pulled chicken out of the oven, as my fat uncle sat at the kitchen table and ate ALL of the dip, as my father and brother sat watching the game in the living room, and as my aunt sat in the carport downstairs and smoked, Julie…Julie ran.
Screaming down the main hallway towards the living room, giggling, toilet paper in hand, she ran. Smearing poo all over the wall as she went, and into the living room where she promptly tripped herself on nothing in particular and planted a handful of shitty toilet paper in my fathers face.
I have never heard my father bellow the way he bellowed at my beautiful little cousin.
“JUUUUUUULLLLLIIIIIEEEE!!!!!” He screamed.
She promptly started to cry. My aunt came in shortly afterwards and commented that it was strange that she’d go without asking for help. I felt like such an asshole.