Traumatized

Hold me, peeps. In the last 24 hours, I have been TRAUMATIZED. It is TRUE. OH YES. I may never recover.

There is not enough BLEACH in the WORLD to help me recover from events of the past day. I may need therapy. It’s hard to say.

But needless to say, this post may be DISTURBING to our more SENSITIVE READERS. Oh, who am I kidding? How could anything be more offensive than my usual potty mouthed ranting? Plus it gives you the opportunity to laugh at me, which is, like, SCORE.

So read on… AT YOUR OWN PERIL.

TRAUMA THE FIRST

FIRST, there was THE POO INCIDENT.

Stinkerbelle made a GINORMOUS poo yesterday. So, in my infinite Mom wisdom, I decided to take the opportunity to flush the diaper deposit. This would accomplish two things: one, it would keep the offending material out of the diaper pail and thus, keep the house from smelling like poo, and two, I could use it as a teachable moment — “oh look! poo goes in the toilet! bye poo!”

Except.

This poo, it was not an ORDINARY poo. I dropped it in the toilet, and went to flush… and it just STAYED THERE. It did not move. I flushed again. Still it remained. I put some TP in with it, and flushed again. It was unmoved.

This was a stubborn poo. So I left it, thinking the water would “dissolve” matters a bit and help it on its way to Sewageland.

So we went about our day. Four hours later, I came back.

THE POO WAS STILL THERE.

What was this poo, MADE OF KRYPTONITE? CEMENT? Was it some sort of SUPER POO?

So, I had to take one for the team. I wrapped my hand up in a plastic bag, reached in, and had to BREAK IT UP WITH MY HAND.

Not my finest hour, to be sure. BDH laughed until he stopped about this one, I can tell you. And every time I need to defend myself about ANYTHING now, I yell, “BUT I BROKE A POO UP WITH MY HAAAAAAND!” To which he replies, “YEAH, BUT YOU PUT IT THERE IN THE FIRST PLACE, DUMBASS!”

So, yeah. That happened.

TRAUMA NUMERO DEUX

Secondly, there was the NEIGHBOUR incident.

Now, by now, you all know we have the Naked Neighbours, who like to sunbathe in the nude and cause us no end of ocular trauma. THIS IS NOT ABOUT THEM.

Oh no, this is about our new neighbour, the Lady Cop who moved in on the other side of us.

I have not met her yet. But I feel I know her much better this afternoon, as I stood in our kitchen — which faces a window in our playroom that is adjacent to a window in Lady Cop’s kitchen — and I observed her: first, sucking face with her hulking boyfriend, and then — AND I THINK YOU KNOW WHERE THIS IS GOING — and then? I saw her feet suddenly wave in the air and her pants being peeled off them. The boyfriend then disappeared BUT HER LEGS DID NOT as she was SERVICED ON THE KITCHEN TABLE.

IN FRONT OF THE WINDOW.

AS I STOOD IN MY KITCHEN, GETTING SNACKS FOR MY DAUGHTER.

Yes. Exactly what I was thinking.

What is seen CANNOT BE UNSEEN. I need BRAIN BLEACH.

I mean, there’s a level of familiarity that you just don’t want with your neighbours. And then there’s LIKE WHOA.

And so, my friends, we shall NEVER TALK OF THIS DAY AGAIN.

And if you need me, I will be under my desk, rocking and weeping.

*****

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