“Oh sh*t…” you say, as you do your best Fred-Savage-from-the-Princess-Bride impression. “Is this a pooping story?”
“This is a pooping story, isn’t it…”
If you’re lucky, you probably have little to no memory of your early childhood years. If you’re unlucky, you might be cursed with remembering every ----- detail since birth. And if you’re real unlucky, you could be stuck with all-too-vivid recollections of those wonderful Golden Years1You bet your un-wiped ass that was urine pun! of potty training.
Guess which shat-agory I fall into? Yup, you can bet your darned left butt-cheek that I remember way too much from that particular era in my life. But the good news is…wait for it…yup, you guessed correctly again! There is a gem of life advice buried somewhere in all that brown gooey muck, and I’m about to dump–er, I mean, “share” it with you right now!
Our 3-year-old daughter, The Younger, is pretty well potty-trained at this point, but she hasn’t quite mastered the art of wiping herself up yet. And since she is like her old man, she typically is left on the potty to do her business for extended of periods of time while her caretaker takes care of other business elsewhere in the house.
But instead of patiently waiting for someone to come clean her up when she’s done, she’s gotten into the habit of just wandering around the house casually with her pants around her legs, butt-cheeks red from sitting to long hanging out and all, loudly proclaiming, “CAN YOU WIPE ME UP PLEASE?!?”
I got to thinking about this the other day, and realized that I am extremely grateful that her little habit is so low-key. Well, relatively speaking, that is.
You see, she could have turned out just like me…
By the age of 3, I, too, had mastered the art of defecating in receptacles previously designated for just that. But unlike The Younger, I had actually become well-versed in the whole wiping thing by then. The only problem, though, was that I just didn’t know when to quit.
Like, literally–I had no clue when it was okay for me to be done wiping. So what did I do? I got a second opinion from someone with better judgement than me, of course!
My standard post-poo protocol was to wipe 2-3 times, then traipse down the hall shirt-on-but-buck-naked-below-deck to the living room where Mom was, do a 180, bend over with my cheeks spread in her general direction, and loudly inquire “AM I CLEAN YET?!?” Then repeat as necessary, until she gave me a clean butt of health.
This probably went on for a good few months without anyone batting an eyelash until one day my much older sister pulled me aside and shared her most precious life-tip with me:
“If you look at the toilet paper after you wipe, you can tell roughly just how clean dat ass be. And you just simply have to keep wiping until it comes back clean–no need to involve our poor mother in this!”
The Ancient wisdom of an older sibling
Now I have had a few experiences in my life that just shook my worldview to the core. This was indubitably the first one of these.
My mind was simply blown away by the genius of it all. And best of all, I wouldn’t have to choose between living with my mother for the rest of my life or smelling like crap all the time.
I recall excitedly sharing this amazing revelation with my slightly older brother One Skinny Jay, and he was like “Pfffft! Everyone knows that! How did you not know that?!?”
Well, excuuuuuuuse me, mister. Apparently, no one in my life could have bothered enough to share that ----- memo with me!
So, from that very moment in time, I knew that I never wanted any child in my purview to ever suffer the indignation that I did of having to regularly perform the uncouth ritual of what I now refer to as “Behold The Gobbler.” Always and forever, I told myself, I would solemnly vow to pass on to my nieces & nephews–and eventually my own children–Life Lesson #1: How To Wipe Your Ass Clean When You’re All Alone.
Speaking of which, I think it’s about time I sat down and had a little chat with The Younger…
Do you like Oreos? I bet you do. Especially if you’re [Whole-Food] Plant-Based like me. They’re a classic treat that simply can’t be beat!
For my part, I distinctly remember falling in love with Oreos at a young age…unfortunately it was during, um, “a particular era in my life.”
Shortly after discovering The Joy of the Big O’ around the age of 3, I had a rather indulgent session with them that involved probably a third of a package and the milk to match the task. Hey, it seemed like a ----- fantastic idea at the time, so sue me.
Well, shortly after “at the time” I experienced one of my earlier life lessons in “consequences of my actions” (surprise, surprise). Not to be too gratuitous, but…yeah, it wasn’t quite diarrhea, nor was it quite solid, rather, my poo was a 4th state of matter more akin in nature to flubber.
Actually, after all these years, I just realized the perfect description for it: “super slow-motion semi-solid diarrhea.” Yeah, that pretty much sums it up.
Anyways, after all the damage was done, I was going through the usual steps of running out to Mom with my short shorts around my cowboy boots for inspection. But unbeknownst to me, there was a hanging chad hiding in one of my crevices, and I only discovered Chad when he became dislodged and landed squarely on my calf before preceding to sloooooooowly creep down to my ankle.
Now, I don’t remember much that happened after that, but I do recall gagging like I had never gagged in my life before or since, and I think I…I think I touched it. It was traumatizing. I couldn’t eat Oreos again for another 4 year or so.
…aaaaand that’s it. That’s the story.
Sorry, I meant The Story, as in “That’s The Story that I actually told–out loud–to everyone sitting with me in Kramer Dining Hall back during my freshman year of college, thinking it to be a relevant tale after making myself the ingenius dessert of crushed Oreos in a glass of milk. You know…the kind of story that begins, ‘This chocolatey mush reminds me…’ “
And guess what? Now you, just like all 15 of my [former] friends and acquantainces present on that fateful day, have officially been cured of your Oreo addiction.
Ta-dah!
Content created on: 10 March 2021 (Wednesday)
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