Potty Trained
It doesn't make sense, but I can hear Hamilton scream. Even though I'm holding his head under water, I can hear him calling to me. It is a shrill, pathetic wail. The hopeless cry of the weak. The shriek of prey. I am nearly certain he is dead when my mother finds me in the bathroom.
"Jackie! What are you doing?" she shouts, and pulls my hands out of the toilet bowl.
"Poo." I say, nodding to Hamilton as he floats silently on the surface.
"Yes," she says, flushing the toilet. "But we don't touch it. We never touch it."
"Okay," I say, smiling as I watch Hamilton spiral into oblivion. Either way, I know he's dead.
« Friday Fives | Main | The Notloc Memo »
March 05, 2007
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I was going to say that this happened at my house today, but then I realized that the poo didn't actually make it to the toilet.
Yes, I'm living a nightmare.
Posted by: Laura | March 05, 2007 at 04:44 PM
Hm... *is suddenly overcome with a nasty case of gaseroenteritis.*
Thank you Dean. Thank you.
Posted by: Enna Isilee | March 05, 2007 at 04:45 PM
Sorry I meant gastroenteritis
Posted by: Enna Isilee | March 05, 2007 at 04:46 PM
wow, that is mildly disturbing. MORE than mildly. where do you get this stuff?????????
Posted by: Faith | March 08, 2007 at 04:10 PM