Fast forward through my day of getting three kids here and there and everywhere, throw a full-time job in there and we're at 5:00 p.m. AnnaBella started softball practice, her very first ever softball practice. We get to the field and she looks at me with big eyes "I have to poop", I said "uhhh, nope, no you don't, you're just nervous" Because me and her, we AIN'T going in no Porta- John! Annnnnd we're in the Porta- John.
Let's rewind a few decades and bring everyone up to speed. Marsha does not like public restrooms, Marsha will hold bodily functions for 3-5 days (5th grade camp, HELLOOOO????). Marsha will gain 10 pounds in a week avoiding public restrooms and their communial congregating and releasing of waste- I may have just vomited a little in my mouth. Marsha Does Not, Will Not, Can Not, Sam I Am, use the public restroom.
Back to the Porta-John. I am thinking that softball /baseball fields are predominately male populated and I'm thinking this was the work of the male species. And by "this" I mean the hole in the Porta-John filled with sticks, not just sticks in the water floating, oh no, that would be too easy, I'm talking limbs of trees protruding out of the hole a good 10 inches. I told Bella, "nope not happening, you have to hold that until we get. . .. " Too late, she's straddling the sticks. Apparently, in the time it took me to turn around douse myself with the antibacterial gel and then turn back around she had made it up and around the sticks and now was pooping. . ...on the sticks. "How am I suppose to wipe you????? Just STOP!!!" But oh no, she was not stopping and she said to me in her sweet little voice "just move the sticks". I did not touch the sticks, she did not touch the sticks and we got the job done and then we both looked at it.. .the stick, with the turd, sticking out of the hole.... so I did what anyone would do and I started pulling the toilet paper out of the dispenser and rolling it and wadding it making a cast around the stick and Voila! Magical! Call me Houdini! Like it never ever happened, just a stick coming out of a Porta-John hole looking like a big old marshmallow waiting to be roasted over an open flame, yup, big old marsh-a-mallow.
Now through this all, I admit, I was not a laughing, not a laughing one bit, nope. . . in fact, I was near tears. I was over the day, I was over that stinking, funking, 2 foot by 2 foot Porta-John (WHO designs these portals to Hell????) I just wanted to be curled up in a ball in my room in the fetal position. BUT, I am stronger than that and I got over it, real quick like! I think I've mastered that concept with three children being a pseudo single mom (pseudo single, you know when you bear the brunt of the parenting duties because of work obligations of the other parent!) So over it I got, and no that is not proper English, in fact most of this post ain't proper English because that's where my brain is right now. . . deflated like a ballon, spitting and sputtering for energy. I was not laughing, not laughing or smiling one bit until early this morning when the true magnitude of that stick hit me and I just thought. . .That stick was a gift. . . .because THAT was too freakin funny, I literally laughed out loud (LOL, LOL, LOL!)
P.S. If you happened to be the next one in that Porta-John? In the words of Moana's Maui, "You're Welcome."
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