twice the smartass, half the laughs
Sometimes It Doesn't Hit The Fan
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Sometimes it hits the floor. Know what I'm saying? No? Let me elaborate. Yes friends, it's another Thursday, and here I am to regale you with wonderfully cute and funny recounting of my weekend. Though, since I don't write this stuff in a more immediate manner, some of the details will get lost and be replace by whatever I make up. Of course, by "some" I mean "most". Just roll with it peeps, and enjoy. I know you will (After all, this one involves shit, and I know how you all love that).

Ah, what a beautiful Sunday morning. Sundays, holiest of holy days. Days reserved for introspection, meditation, and quiet reflection on your personal relationship with your fantasy football team. Sitting at the alter of your computer, diligently reviewing the week's match ups, and looking for a little divine intervention in setting your lineups. Lineups set, you point your finger skyward, like some receiver scoring on a sixty yard reception, as if to say "Hey big fella. This one's for you." Then it's time to settle in on the couch, crack open a brew (hey, it's like 11:00 am... okay, it's more like 10:30 am. But hey, it's Sunday.), and watch the pregame shows, as you get piss drunk in anticipation of the opening kickoff. This particular Sunday was like any other, except for fact that it was nothing like any other Sunday. Yeah, except for that, it was just the same. You see, this Sunday, I hardly watched any football. Also, I wasn't even drunk until, like... well, I don't really remember, but I'm pretty sure it was sometime in the evening. What did I do all day you ask? My, how inquisitive of you I respond. Well, Gary tried to get us to go to the zoo, but I put the kibosh on that pdq. I didn't feel like driving into Chocolate City, and spending what would invariably be our entire day at, what I assumed would be, a jam packed zoo. That, and I'm kind of a jerk who likes dashing peoples dreams. Okay, so going to the zoo wasn't exactly a dream of Gary's, but it seemed to make him happy, so I felt it needed to be dashed anyway. (I'm sorry, did I say "kind of"?) What I ended up doing was hanging out with my girls, which, as I've said before, is absolutely one of my favorite things to do (most of the time anyway). so it was during this, my favorite of past times, that my tale really takes place.

My daughter is absolutely beautiful, amazingly sweet and funny, incredibly smart, and surprisingly polite. (She gets that from her momma Actually, she gets all those things from her mom.) She is also, like most two years old, supremely stubborn. My wife and I have long been proponents of picking our battles with her. Well, not "long" really, as she's only two, but you get what I mean. (Unless you don't, in which case my I suggest some more appropriate reading material for you, such as a picture book, or one with little buttons you can push that play music. Gator's got a Barney one that I'm sure she wouldn't mind lending you.) If it's an important lesson, or a matter of her safety, we will most certainly stand our ground. If it's trivial, we generally let her have her way. Now, one of the things that Gator has become increasingly more difficult with is the wearing of diapers (On her. she doesn't seem to mind if we wear them.) Recently, we've taken to putting her in pullups, both in preparation of potty training in the very near future, and it's easier to change her standing up when she's being uncooperative. Most of the time she'd really rather not be in them. Actually, most of the time, she'd rather be naked (Hence my having briefly dubbed her "Her Nakedness".), but then again, wouldn't we all?

This particular Sunday, at some point during the day, Shelley and I thought it a trivial matter when Caroline Allee Pooters Lee-Lee Her Nakedness Gator Gay decided she didn't want to put another diaper on after we had taken a dirty one off. After all, we weren't going anywhere. We were just hanging out at the house. So, if our little hippy wanted to run around in the buff, what's the big deal? There was one condition though. We made her promise to tell us if she had to go to the bathroom. Ah, the unbreakable promises of the two year old. Well, we made sure to keep an eye on her, and imagine my delight when she ran into the bathroom proclaiming "Tee Tee! Tee Tee!". I quickly hopped off the couch to go lend her a hand. We don't have a kiddy seat on our throne yet, so, someone has to be in there to hold the princess up. I picked her up and put her on the seat, and steadied her as she made a valiant effort to relieve herself. She strained a bit, but nothing came out. Eventually, I though it may have been a false alarm, and with her consent we abandoned our mission. Little did I know that, not five minutes later, I would learn why she had strained to go. I settled back on the couch with Shelley, and Allee ducked into the little side entrance to our kitchen. She must've been out of sight for maybe two minutes, but that was all it took. She sauntered (it may have been more of a sashay) back into the living room, looked back and forth between Shelley and I, pointed back to where she had been and said very calmly, very casually "Poo Poo." Instinctively, Shelley and I knew our roles. She grabbed Allee before she could sit on anything, and I went to inspect the damage.

Cautiously, as though tracking a wild animal, I made my way around the corner. There, on the floor, conveniently located a mere foot from the cat litter box, it was. A single, stinky, impressively large light brown turd, looking like it thought it belonged there. I approached as it just sat there looking at me, like I was the one with the problem. I grabbed two, maybe three, paper towels. I wasn't taking any chances. I picked it up. It was firm and it had a good weight to it. No wonder she had trouble with it initially. I was asked, after the fact, if, had Allee not ratted herself out, if I might've pinned it on one of the cats. No way bro. This thing couldn't have come from a cat. An adolescent tiger perhaps, but not a house cat. In fact, if Gator hadn't of told us it was her, I might not have even suspected her. Knowing the Shelley is incapable of doing something so horrendous, I might've been inclined to think that somehow I accidentally shit on the floor. Believe me, it was that big. Suffice it to say, she spent the rest of the day, and every moment since, in diapers.

Man, this got kind of long (as it tends to do). I'm such a wordy mofo. There was something else I wanted to mention, but I fear that I've already taken up enough of your time. Besides, this post is pretty light hearted, and the other thing I wanted to mention is kind of serious (I know, me serious huh? I bet you can't wait.) It's just something my friend Shana told me, that kinda pisses me off. So, maybe tomorrow. We'll see. Well, take it easy peeps. Later.

Until next time: Humans... and how I love you talking monkeys for this... know more about war and treachery of the spirit than any angel.