Hello. I am Me. Hater of all words that begin with P – namely poop, pee, puke and pressures (aka farts). Ever since I announced this hatred to the blogging world, Karma has graced my daily life with sightings of some type of P word.
Let’s take this little story for example.
Rambo happened to be home in the morning so I didn’t want to get out of bed. We were chatting. I was laying on my stomach and he was rubbing my back as we talked. At one point, he turned into a 12 year old and even spelled “I love you” onto my back with his index finger to see if I’d notice.
It’s the shit movies are made of, right?
Sure. Well that is until I made the cardinal error and proclaimed, “Ugh, I don’t want to get up and I’m going to be late.”
To which Rambo’s ass replied with the loudest, most disgusting pressure EVER.
I kid you not – I sprinted from the bed – so as not to get any “pressure” remnants on me. Because the only thing worse than hearing or smelling a “pressure” is sitting in it’s air.
As I hear Rambo laughing and yelling, “Look at how fast you can go!”
Minutes later, he’s in the bathroom with me and he wants to hug me.
I say, “Get away from me. You probably smell.”
He says, “Oh baby, don’t you know the first one out of the box never smells? The second – maybe – but never the first.”
Seriously? And then he has the nerve to say, “Just think – if I won the lottery, you’d get to have all of this every morning cuz I wouldn’t go to work anymore.”
Remind me to stop praying that you win the lottery asshole.
You’d think that for the day that I’ve had enough of dealing with things that make me want to hurl after Rambo shits the bed but nope. You’d be wrong. I got to work and I get a text from Watermelon.
W: Mom. Dad says that to start a morning off great people should take a poop because he did take a poop and he is going on and on about it.
My only reply was: “Jesus.”
W: Yup. Dad thanked Jesus for his glorious poop also.
And I never heard from her again.
I’m not sure what’s worse. My 11 year saying “glorious poop” before 8am or her texting me SOLELY about poop.
What the hell is wrong with my family?
Come to find out later – Rambo was dancing in the hallway before his glorious poop – to the rhythm of that song “Whoop – there it is.” Remember that song?
He’s dancing and yelling, “I feel a poop coming on, I feel a poop coming on. Whoop – there it is. Whoop – there it is.”
As my daughters nearly go comatose from giggling.
When will they learn that poop is not funny?
All before 8am.
I can’t wait for Explosive Man to get to work.
Let the “shit” continue.