This post gets kind of yucky. If you are easily disgusted or offended, please move along to another wep page now.
When we last visited, I was elated to finally be able to move back to my newly air-conditioned house. All is getting back to normal now -- the yard is clear of debris, and repairs have been made to the minor damage that we had. Our cable line is still lying on the ground, which means I haven't had television or high-speed internet at home since labor day (16 days now), but we're managing to get by.
Now I have to rewind, going back to our Florida trip. We went out there for a wedding in Shelly's family. During the course of events, I found out that Shelly's mother checks my site every day. So this post is for her.
Your daughter is one of my favorite people and closest friends, but you should know that a more crude person has never set foot on the planet. And perhaps this is why I like her so much.
One night, we were up late drinking, and Shelly came up with a question for the group. Mind you, this was all females, plus your boy here.
"If you had a gun to your head, and you had to choose, would you eat your own poop, the person on your left's poop, or the person on your right's poop?"
To Shelly and me, the answer was obvious. Our own poop, of course. As disgusting as it would be, it wouldn't be nearly as bad as eating someone else's.
Your niece/cousin/whatever -- the beautiful bride (I'm hesitant to use any more real names. Once I click "post," this stuff is out there forever.) -- picked her sister-in-law's poop.
I'm not sure if Shelly was more mortified, or if the Sister-in-was. SIL was thrust innocently into the conversation through no will of her own, and Shelly quickly pointed out that maybe she takes it in the back door, or maybe she swallows, but there was a good chance that Bride would be eating her own brother's sperm.
And let me tell you that I've cleaned up the language in that exchange A LOT.
I don't know how, but SIL indicated that the back-door thing wasn't happening without saying it bluntly, but the other option was still out there.
But Megan -- damn, I've used the Bride's name -- held fast. She claims that even with the presence of her own brother's digested sperm, her in-law's poop was still a better selection than her own trifiling, stinky messes.
But please don't think you've failed as a mother. Now that I've met the whole family, you didn't stand a chance.
Hugs and kisses,
Disgusting things notwithstanding it was a good trip. As soon as I get a reliable connection, I'll post some pictures.
On our way back into Baton Rouge, a week after Gustov, I turned down a main street trying to get home, and a large tree still blocked my passage.
"Shit." I said this under my breath.
"Shit," chirped the two-year-old voice from the back seat.
"No, no, no. Don't say that. Papa shouldn't have said that. Don't ever say that word any more."
And being fussed at, Vanya started wailing. And I had to find my way home through the tree maze with my distraught kid shrieking because I fussed at him for repeating me.