Potty Drama


Bridge of DeathWe were having a difficult time shopping.  We being Josh and I.  Samantha and Simon were having difficulty escaping, hellbent on wreaking havoc.  Moreso than usual.  Shopping with small children is always a test of virtues, a choice between accepting humility or fighting against humiliation.

Our final stop was the restroom.  Josh attempted to go in by himself.  The monkeys broke free and raced after him, throwing themselves through the door ahead of him, nearly knocking him down.

Samantha announced, to the entire men’s restroom, attempting and thankfully failing to incite her brother, “Watch out!  We’re going to get killed!  We’re going to die!  It’s the bathroom of death!”  She howled, reveling in the sound of her own echo, in the depths of her drama, “It’s the Potty of Death!”  If the bathroom had been empty, I’m sure she wouldn’t have said a thing.  She was gleeful at her own daring, braving the Potty of Death.

I don’t think I want to go back to that store this month.  I think I’m going to hide in my hole, with a pint of chocolate ice cream, scooped with chocolate cookies.

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4 thoughts on “Potty Drama

  1. Well you know if I had been an adult in the “potty of death” I might be half tempted to join in the pretend and sorely unable to at the very least share a good laugh. She’s got quite an imagination.

  2. Natalie, you are such a good writer! I felt like I was there with you. What adventures you have with your young ‘uns! They have such wonderful personalities and great imaginations. Fabulous!

  3. I would have joined in too. ROFL! I have to check myself because I say all sorts of things that end up coming back to haunt me.

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