Back a little over a year ago when we decided to rent this house, we were told it was a 4 bedroom, 1.5 bathroom with a large fenced in back yard and attached garage. Oh, and a creepy-as-fuck “this could totally have a serial killer in it and you’d never know” shed in the back yard.
For someone with two small kids and not a hell of a lot of furniture- this sounded pretty perfect. Little did I know that part of my house was zoned as a conference room- and everyone else was informed of this fact except for me.
It would appear that every time I enter the bathroom to do my business, a silent alarm is sounded, informing all other inhabitants of my household that I have called for an URGENT FAMILY MEETING and everyone must report to the bathroom and cram themselves into it with me in order to be instructed of what to do next.
If that’s not what’s going on around here, then you can just color me absolutely clueless- because nothing else seems to make sense.
WHAT, pray tell, is so interesting about someone else’s bodily functions? Sure, maybe pee is tolerable- but what could be appealing about being in the bathroom with someone else while they’re taking a dump if you don’t HAVE to be? Why subject yourself to the stench of someone else’s brand?
What is THAT important that it just cannot wait even 2 short minutes?
Is it the allure of a captive audience? Knowing that you can annoy someone and there is absolutely nothing they can do to get away without soiling themselves? The notion that the person is emptying themselves of one thing and opening themselves up for others? I do happen to get my very best ideas while my ass is firmly planted on the porcelain chariot- perhaps my family is sneakier than I give them credit for. Perhaps I am more susceptible to tiny little voices asking for things I would, at any other time, say no to- but while experiencing the relief one only experiences while using the bathroom after holding it in for any period of time- becomes a “YES” machine.
There has to be SOME kind of reason, because I, and moms all over the world have not gotten more than a handful of poos alone since our children were birthed from our nethers.
Maybe THAT’S it; maybe they want to make sure there isn’t another child being birthed and absolutely must be there to witness it and be sure?
It’s an epidemic; a mystery that must be solved- ’cause I don’t know about y’all- but there’s nothing more unsatisfying than a poo that’s interrupted by screeching weasels. Even worse when you don’t get to finish your poo because you’re just so sick of the whining, begging, and complaining; “I’m hungry!” “I want to watch a movie!” “what are you doing??” “are you POOPING?” “are you gonna wipe your butt?” “but mommy I need you RIGHT NOW”s that you give up halfway through. I am all about a good poo experience- so this frequent conferencing during my doos needs to end.
I might consider a deadbolt, but I’m positive the evil geniuses would find a way to teleport through the door, or stick their nubby little fingers underneath of it and whine even louder through the wood, or completely destroy the house in my absence.
Alas, fellow mothers and fathers- I think we’re all totally effed unless we can hold our poos until the kids go to bed. This has potential to get a poo plug stuck in your butt and you may never be able to poo again! Make your choice.
Please stop Complimenting my kids’ “Good” Behavior goo.gl/fb/rwfojS
Hard pass from me pic.twitter.com/VayvW1eopK
I've gotten to the point where I'd let my kids summon a demon with a Ouija board before I'd let them play Monopoly together again.
Parenthood is when you start counting the minutes to bed time before 11am.
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