Okay, so I am really not a lady, but here is a classy little tale for you on this fine Monday.
The brown phone and the poo phobia
We have always had dogs. They were farm dogs who lived in the house at night. Occasionally there was an accident. It happens. Somehow the accidents always happened when my mom was gone. Maybe because my dad, my sis and I didn't realize how much mom did when she was there... like doing all the cooking, cleaning, laundry, organizing and letting the dogs out at night. Now that I am a mother I have a much greater appreciation for these "little things" that keep a household together and a floor clean. Anyway, my sister and my dad claimed to have overactive gag reflexes when dealing with any accidents, especially those of the brown variety. They always turned to me with scrunched up faces and a hand over their mouth and insisted they would "lose it" if they had to clean it off the floor. So with a lot of eye rolling and accusations of them being pathetic losers, I did it. Naturally.
One morning my sister comes skipping down the staircase. She was one of those wretched "morning people". Probably because she turned into a pumpkin a 8:15 every night. I on the other hand, stayed up as late as I could watching reruns of Cheers and Night Court on the black and white television in my bedroom. After that I would read Stephen King books for an hour, then wonder why I couldn't get to sleep when every tiny noise made me jump out of my skin. Needless to say, morning was not (and still isn't) a time of day which I embrace. So when my sister is at the bottom of the gleefully descended staircase she hits the main floor (carpeted in variegated brown shag, good for hiding things like dirt.... and poo) and steps barefoot into a pile of "oh crap, I HAVE TO GO NOW!" left by a very guilty dog now in the next room. She does what anyone would do. She screams EEWWWW!!! and kicks her foot into the air, which sends poo flying in every direction.
Later, after I have greeted yet another wondrous morning, only to come downstairs to my sister begging me to clean up the offensive pile, I need to make a phone call. I pick up the customary 1980's brown rotary wall phone and hold it under my chin while dialing the number. I smell something. I move as far away from the contaminated carpet as the cord will let me and I still smell the poo. Then I look down at the receiver and notice that what I am smelling IS the poo. An errant piece of what my sister kicked off her foot had landed on the mouthpiece of the phone. It was camouflaged by the color of the phone and sitting a mere 1/2 inch away from my mouth. Yummy. Did I mention how much I already loved mornings?
Karma is a beautiful thing. Now that I have children, my sister babysits at times. She is one of their favorite people and they lets her know it so she enjoys her time with Thing 1 and 2. The whole diaper thing is a great source of tension for her though. She has no children of her own. Quite honestly, sometimes I am surprised that I mommied up to the task of wee ones. My family is from a long line of "dog people".... and I am fairly unstable. But I decided to go for it and couldn't imagine my life without them. They are so cuddly and you should see all the tricks they can do! Anyway, she expresses her nervousness to me whenever I leave them with her and I say "you'll be fine, you wipe your own ass without gagging. They are just little guys! How bad can it be?" Well, every parent, grandparent and babysitter knows, it can be bad. Sometimes the size and stench of what comes out of your tiny precious treasure could bring the Brawny Man to his knees.
One fine summer day, my husband and I dropped off Thing 1 at her place one day (this was prior to the birth of Thing 2). We had our horses with us and decided to take a quick ride after putting him down for a nap. We asked her to listen for him to wake up and give him a little snack. We thought that he would sleep a long time because he had really packed away the food at lunch- a brat, half an avocado, a handful of crackers, a banana and milk. Well, he woke before we returned from our ride with a toxic load seeping out of his diaper. My sister had to deal with it, as no one was around to give her sympathy about her little gagging problem. She manned up to the task and had him all fresh and clean when we returned from our ride. He was smiling like a little angel instead of someone who could have cleared out a truck stop bathroom. I personally could not contain my joy. As long as it isn't pointed at me, I really love Karma. My sources tell me (the magic 8 ball of course) that there is more poo to come in her life.