When the fungal growth begins the insults relating to how long it’s been since you last shaved, it’s time.

Psst. I have something to tell you, and a question.

*waving you in this direction*

Come closer. I’ll tell you.

No, closer. I’m going to whisper, and you need to be really close to hear.

Okay, ready?

I scrubbed my shower yesterday.

*looking around and over shoulder*

It was time.

*biting lip*

You know, *cough* Spring cleaning and all.

I mean… uh, not that I don’t regularly clean my shower. Heh. Yeah, not like that’s the case.

*fidgeting*

So, uh, you know… I clean my shower, you know… as often as you clean yours.

*leaning in*

*expectant*

How often would you say that you do that, anyway?

Not that I’m gauging my own level of disgusting neglect by what YOU do or anything.

Nope, not at all.

*whistling*

*still eyeballing you; waiting*

The shoes are still sitting in the garage, being avoided. *sigh*

Dear Exceeding Disgusting Degenerate Who Frequented the Mens Room At Cracker Barrel:

I am really appreciative of the fact that my loving husband takes on diaper duties for our son when he comes home.  It offers me a chance to relax a little.

Unfortunately, he entered the restroom to change a wet diaper on Monday at some point after you were there.  And he occupied much of the same space that you clearly “used” during your time in the facility.

For future reference: That round, shiny porcelain thing that you were in a stall with?  THAT was your primary target.  Notice how it was just about the same size as your ass (not your face, but I understand your confusion, as you are clearly an Assfacian).  It must have seemed like such a coincidence, I know, but trust me – it is purposeful.  You are actually supposed to place your “dumping mechanism” over that lovely collection bowl and THAT is where you are intended to make your “deposit.”  This is the acceptable way of doing things in our part of the world.

In other words? Shit goes in the toilet. NOT ON THE FLOOR.

The scent of “shit shoe-sole”, even after it has been furiously rubbed on dirt and leaves in the parking area, is not a pleasant thing to a pregnant lady in a car on the ride home.

Please note that your anonymity is the only thing saving your life today.

Sincerely,

One of the MANY people who understand how this whole Public Sanitation thing works.

Fecal Matter Frustration and Hereditary Narcissism

We’ve been on the potty-training roller coaster with Braden for some time now, and seriously, this experience has been enough to really not want any more kids.  I’ve joked around about that before, but there are times when the whole thing really is just that frustrating.  Fecal and Urinary Trickery and Frustration really can make you want to rip your own uterus out of its warm, abdominal resting place and shove it down into the sink garbage disposal.

“Poop!” he yells.

We go to the bathroom, he sits on the potty.

For a long time.  And reads a book.

Then he’s “ah-dun!” and gets down.

No poop is in the potty.

But he delights greatly in telling me “Eh-Poop!” later, when it’s in his pants.  Then he runs like mad to the bathroom so we can put it in the toilet and flush it, while he says, “Buh-byyyyeee, Puh-POOOOO!!!”

If he weren’t so cute, I’d shove him in with it.

I’ve even tried this great tip (is that not hilarious?) but I don’t think he really cares what the poop wants to do.  It’s all about him, don’t you know!? (I have NO idea where he gets that from. *cough*)

He pees on the toilet more reliably, but by NO means all the time.  And he has “accidents” on the carpet/floor/step stool in the bathroom which are not really accidents at all, if you ask me.  I mean, when someone is just doing his thing, then he stops, take a stance that thrusts his crotch out, and smiles devilishly at you while he starts an incredibly healthy and strong stream of urine all over something you don’t particularly want urine on?  IT’S NOT AN ACCIDENT.  IT’S AN EVIL DEED.

He has also become incredibly obsessed with running to the bathroom and climbing up on the step-stool I placed in front of the sink to make it possible for him to learn how to wash his hands.  Does he want wash his hands very badly? No, he wants to flip the lights on and off (remember how he became obsessed with that a long time ago?) and “perform” in front of the mirror, with much silliness.

I’ve stopped him now by buying a cheapo wall mirror (about $4.75 for those of you taking detailed notice of what I spend around here) and hanging it at his level in the living room. 

Now he dances and performs in front of it, or just stands there laughing and talking to himself.

So yes, it is official.  Narcissism is quite hereditary.

*turns head, looks upwards, and starts whistling*

*walks away nonchalantly*






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