“Your daughter is part animal,” I informed my husband Tom. I had rushed upstairs and found him emerging from the bathroom because he had just enjoyed a leisurely PIP (poop in peace.) I suppose I should at least be grateful that he had done it upstairs so we wouldn’t have to smell the wafts of his creation downstairs. Of course it would be nice if I could enjoy a PIP but whatever, beggars can’t be choosers right?
“Huh?” Tom replied, scratching the side of his head. I really hoped that he washed his hands when he was finished using the bathroom. I read in a magazine that 86% of men admit to not washing their hands after using the toilet. I find this disgusting. Do they not realize that URINE can transfer to their fingers? And thus, if they touch other people or FURNITURE in the house that said urine will get on that? This is why I try not to think about it.
“Your daughter is part animal,” I repeated. “Do you know what she did? I was on the computer writing my novel and all of a sudden I heard this dripping sound. I assumed she was dumping out her sippy cup again and I swirled around and was in the middle of asking her to stop it when I saw her standing over a VENT and PISSING INTO IT!”
Tom started to chuckle.
“It’s not FUNNY!” I shrieked. How could he be laughing? Did he not hear me when I said that his daughter peed into a vent like a common vagrant? How could that not bother him?
Tom quickly wiped the smile from his face for fear of my wrath. “Well,” he said, struggling hard not to laugh. “Why did you take her diaper off?”
I threw my hands up in frustration. “I didn’t! The little minx took it off herself! You know she’s been stripping these days. Which is another issue: should we be concerned? Is she starting to practice early for a future job as an exotic dancer?”
Tom smirked. “I doubt that.”
“So anyhow, you get to clean the pee up,” I added casually, heading downstairs.
Tom was at my heels in an instant. “What?”
“You get to clean the pee up,” I said again. “You got to enjoy a PIP, thus you get to deal with the pee.”
Tom seemed genuinely confused. “That doesn’t seem fair…”
I got to the bottom step and whirled around. Tom nearly collided into me. “Jesus! Don’t just stop like that,” he complained.
“Tom, it’s only fair that you take care of the mess,” I said sweetly. I went into the kitchen and picked up some paper towels and the carpet cleaner.
“But..But..” Tom sputtered as I placed the towels in his baffled hand.
I pointed out the vent that Natalie had mistaken for her potty. Maybe she needs glasses?
“I peed,” Natalie told us grandly as we entered the room. She was sitting naked in the living room, coloring a picture.
“Natalie peed in the vent!” Tommy tattled.
“Make sure you get all the pee. I’m not sure if the liquid will like, cause the house to blow up when the furnace kicks on,” I told Tom. Obviously I’ve been watching too many action movies. It’s not my fault. Tom always puts on True Lies whenever he sees it on cable.
“This is so gross. Ew, there’s pee surrounding the vent too!” Tom whined. “Natalie, sweets, what were you doing, writing out a signal?”
Natalie looked up and grinned. “I peed!”
“Maybe she was trying to spell out her name,” I said jokingly.
Tom was not amused. “Oh, laugh it up.” He made a face as he started dabbing the pee with the paper towel. “This is so gross. It’s still WARM!”
Please. How can he find that disgusting? If he wants disgusting, he should try cleaning a diaper where the poo has gone up the back. THAT’S disgusting because you’re not quite sure where to start when that occurs. But sopping up some pee? That’s nothing.
Tom opened the vent and stuck his hand down to scrub off the liquid. “When I pictured myself as adult, I never pictured doing this,” he fumed as he struggled to wipe up everything.
“Welcome to my world!” I said sweetly. When I pictured myself as an adult, I never thought I’d utter phrases like, “Penises belong in your pants,” (spoken to both my son and husband, I’m sad to admit..) and “We don’t suck on rocks.”
Children definitely bring plenty of surprises, that’s for sure.
But I don’t mind.
It gives me something to write about, after all.