Important Annoucement to Parents of Small Shits, Oops, I Mean Children
I know what I am writing is morally reprehensible and offensive. Maybe I’ll get some cool hate mail. But allow me to explain
I do not like children.
But even that alone never inspired me to wish such events on them, until Thursday night. I moved out of my house on Thursday afternoon and took up a coworker on his offer to crash at their place, along with his family, which includes a little boy who is almost 4. The little boy is pretty sweet as far as kids go.
But my coworker failed to tell me that they are “potty-training” him. To those of us fortunate enough not to have procreated, this means “teaching your nasty little shit to quit taking a dump in his pants and expecting someone else to clean it up simply because he did not want to miss 2 minutes of “Dora the Explorer” to sit on the toilet like a normal person would“.
Note to crotchfruit owners: people appreciate your hospitality and are likely truly grateful that you offer your residence during their periods of temporary homelessness. However, you as a host have a moral duty to uphold that you remove the dirty patina of parenting from your vision when making your offer. A kid who is almost 4 who refuses to use the toilet and instead prefers to crap in its pants, or worse, the bathtub and bathmat on which your guest only moments before had taken a shower and placed her bare, clean feet, is grounds for cancelling your offer. At least give guests the courtesy warning (flush? I’m so clever) about the influx of fecal material that is coating your floors, sheets, furniture, and who knows what else.
To top it all off, the kid puked 3 times. After the second puke, his parents tossed him in the bathtub, but not before yanking off his filled diaper and putting it into the trash can right next to the sink, the very sink where they expected me to brush my teeth. I have no desire to look at human feces while brushing my teeth. In fact, the entire episode made me sick to my stomach and I probably would have puked too if I could have found a sanitary place in their house to do so.
Parents, I realize you love everything about your crotchfruit, from the drool dribbling down their chins to the foul smelling substance oozing from their darling little rear ends, but for fuck’s sake don’t make the rest of the world put up with it.
Fortunately, the above story has a happy ending. The cute guy from the volksmarch last week had casually mentioned that he had an extra bedroom and bathroom, plus he lives 5 minutes from work. Panicking after puke #2 and the unpleasant bathmat incident, I called him up. I said “Well, the people I am staying with are potty training their son” and he nearly yelled “Oh God, don’t say any more, come on over whenever you want”.
His place is typically bachelor pad, with lots of cool gadgets, mismatched dishes, and porn video collection neatly stacked on the entertainment center. But his is also very clean. In fact, I smelled bleach and Clorox disinfectant when I walked in.
P.S. I rented “The Exorcism of Emily Rose” over the weekend. Not particularly scary, though a bit disturbing. For those who have seen the movie, let me say I have woken up at 2:58am and 2:59am precisely over the last two nights, scared out of my mind, clutching my ancient teddy bear for dear life.