Everyone has their limit. For some people, it’s blood- there’s no possible way they can look at/deal with/patch up/clean it without either barfing or passing out. Others, maybe it’s seeing a hair in their food. Mold. A bug. I know people who simply CANNOT climb to any kind of height above the earth. Many cannot get away from barf fast enough, as they are sympathetic barfers. Just imagine if you had all three on an airplane sitting side-by-side and one of them cut their hand after getting rammed by a snack cart (seriously, those things are dangerous!) filled with rotten food. That would not be a fun flight.
I have plenty of fears (rational and irrational), but last week after lunch one day, as a flood of poo water poured out of the toilet, I realized mine.
Yes, I think poop is funny. Sometimes it can even be frickin’ HILARIOUS. I can handle years worth of diapers full of kinds of poop in colors I didn’t think possible, and consistencies I didn’t even known existed. I’ve wiped butts more times than I care to count. I’ve pooped MYSELF. I’ve been pooped on by other people. I’ve even been pooped AT. I’ve cleaned projectile poop from walls, and turds that were carried around the house and hidden like fucking Easter eggs. Maybe I gag, heave, run screaming away, tie a towel around my face like a gas mask- but I can handle poop… usually.
My limit? Wet poop. And I don’t mean the kind you have after a dangerous flirtation with Taco Bell. I mean the kind that has been fermenting in an unflushed toilet or hiding in a pipe that suddenly decides- HEY! Guess what I haven’t seen in a while? The bathroom floor! and then makes its way out of the pot like a volcano. Poo water. That’s a big fat nope. NOPE. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOPE.
We live in an older house, with an even older landlord, who doesn’t believe the old shit in this house is broken because if HE is still working, so should it. “Maddening” would be too kind of a word to use in this situation. The toilets cause us issues all the time. I guess people back in the stone age were a lot smaller with smaller poops because it doesn’t seem to matter how small of a turd you unload, there’s a chance the toilet will clog. Dropping a deuce in this house is like playing Russian roulette with the septic system.
Word to the wise: When you have children, update your septic system. Not only will they take craps bigger than yours, but for some Ungodly reason, they feel the need to use half of a friggin’ toilet paper roll to get their crack clean. I appreciate the attention to detail, but STAAAAAAAHP!
That is exactly what ran through my head as the poo-lava flow started creeping out of the bathroom. I’d found a toilet which contents looked more like a TPed crime scene than a bowel movement. Recoiling in absolute horror, all I could do was slam closed to lid, push down the handle, and hope for the best. What I really should have been doing is preparing for the worst because the end result was horrific. I think we will have to incinerate the dozen towels it took me to stop the spread of the Poopocalypse.
In that moment (y’know… after I was done shrieking, HEEEEEERRRRRKing, and flailing), I had a parenting revelation.
Right now, I’m not trying to build the future leader of America. I’m not trying to train the next Picasso or Beethoven. I’d like to think I’m aiming my kids down the right path, but when it comes to kids, most of the time I can’t really even be worried about their aim. I JUST WANT THEM TO FLUSH THE DAMN TOILET! Let’s do this shit one step at a time. Today: flushing the toilet. Tomorrow? THE WORLD! Or…. maybe tomorrow will be the day we just work on their aim.
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