November 15: The end of this poop

Have you ever had this happen? You hear about something or somebody for the first time, and then you see that thing or that person everywhere? Or you write about something, and that thing catches your attention with astonishing frequency?

Yeah, that happened to me. With poop. Since I wrote about Gracie's rolling turd, I've noticed poop everywhere. People are writing poop on their Facebooks. People are saying it on TV. I had to change a poopy diaper. And then I had this conversation with my daughter, Elvira.

Elvira: Coraline's little friend Carly is here today. They've been playing with each other and totally ignoring me. I picked up the bedroom and cleaned the bathroom. I don't know what to do next.

Me: Who knows what you might do now with all your free time. You could write your first novel. Or paint a gallery full of paintings.

Elvira: Or I could poop alone. That would be an achievement.
*******

As I promised Tuesday, I have just one more poop story, and this one is also about Elvira .... and poop.

When Elvira was 3, we were at the library one day checking out our books. Another mom and her daughter of a similar age were checking out next to us on the left.

Elvira turned and said to the girl, "How old are you? I'm 3." And she held 3 fingers up in front of herself about a foot from the other little girl's face. It was adorable. I smiled, for about one second.

The other mom, hereby known as Snooty Bitch, drew her breath in sharply and stuck her hand down between the two girls, closer to Elvira than to her own daughter. In fact, very close to Elvira's face.

"Don't let her touch her!" she said in a loud, shrill voice that indicated she thought Elvira might have leprosy. "Don't let her touch her!" Double leprosy.

I stared her down for a few seconds. One of those stop-motion periods of time with her hand in front of my adorable dark-haired daughter and my eyes telling her, "Snooty Bitch, I would be taking you outside and kicking your skinny suburban ass around the parking lot, but I don't want my daughter to know you think your snooty little princess is too good for her. However, next time I might not play nice with you. And you don't want to see me when I'm not nice. I will shank a bitch who hurts my daughter."

Elvira says even now that she's an adult with a child of her own that look makes her want to hand me her cell phone and go to her room for a week. And that's when I'm giving the look to someone else.

I took Elvira gently by the shoulders and moved her to my right side.

"What are you doing?" she asked. "I want to play with that other little girl."

"Her mommy won't let her play right now," I said. "Just wait over here while I check out, please."

Snooty Bitch pulled her daughter up against her. We both went back to checking out, Elvira peering around my legs trying to catch the attention of the other little girl.

We both finished checking out at the same time. Snooty Bitch took her daughter's hand and headed toward the door. I also took Elvira's hand so she wouldn't attack the other little girl with kindness. I could tell she still wanted to make friends.

Suddenly she thought of the perfect ice breaker. She shouted, "My favorite color is purple. What's your favorite color?"

Before Snooty Bitch could stop her, the other little girl turned around and said, "Brown. My favorite color is brown."

Elvira stopped came to a dead stop. "Brown? Brown? Why is your favorite color the color of poop?"

I grabbed Elvira by her jacket, dragged her behind a bookcase and ducked down beside her. She was so confused she couldn't think of anything to say. But we heard the other little girl say loudly and clearly, "Mommy, why is that little girl so naughty?"

I didn't hear what Snooty Bitch said. I was trying too hard not to laugh hysterically back behind the bookcase where we were hidden. And I was failing. I was, in fact, almost peeing my pants I was laughing so hard.

Elvira said, "Mommy, I'm not really naughty am I?"

"No, baby girl, you are not naughty," I said. "And thank god your favorite color isn't the color of poop. Let's get the hell  out of here."

No more poop stories, I promise. Vaginas are much more fun. 

November 13: Poop it is then

Because I found out today that a significant number of my readers are 12-year-old boys, I have a couple of items that were shared on my Facebook today in response to last night's turd post.

I posted on the Reticulated Writer Facebook page (which you should like) that it had been a little disturbing sifting through images looking for a lighthearted photo of a turd. Google for turd images and see if it's not. There are some sick people out there and they're posting photos of their poop. I didn't want to see that shit.

One reader shared a song that burrowed into my ear and stayed there for at least an hour. (You've been warned.) It's from South Park, and evidently there's an entire episode about Mr. Hankey. This is the acceptable version of the song. If you look on youtube for yourself, you can also find the uncensored version. My recommendation is that you listen to this one first and see if you can stomach any more of Mr. Hankey before you go looking for the really dirty version.

Another reader shared art supplies -- crayons to be exact -- that a company called Playstool LeeLeeStreet had listed on etsy.com. They were picked up by regretsy.com because they look like this:

http://www.regretsy.com/2012/11/13/new-from-playstool

The description is from regretsy, and the comments below are hilarious. The original etsy listing is here though, and you really can buy shit crayons.

I'm always looking for unique gifts, so I thought I'd buy some. Maybe, for example, for the kids' Christmas stockings this year -- something different from the usual coal. Or maybe they'd make lovely a post-divorce anniversary present. But alas they were sold out.

Here's my question: What did they use to make the mold for this product? Real turds? Because that would be difficult, wouldn't it? I'm reminded of the Clone-a-Pussy I wrote about a few months ago. I guess the same questions stand for how you'd go about making a turd mold. The difference is that I really wanted to know the answer to the vagina mold questions.

I also wonder what else you could make with a poop mold besides the obvious: plastic poop. Poop soap? Poop Jello shots? Poop candles -- unscented, I hope? Poop marzipan cake decorations? Any other ideas?

You know, Gracie's turd would have been her dirty little secret if it had been shaped like these. They don't roll. And that would be one advantage of these over regular Crayola crayons. Then again the dearth of colors would make creativity difficult.

This just goes to show humans will never run out of poop jokes. Poop is almost as funny as farts. Almost.

Which is why I'm going to write about poop again tomorrow. Not serious poop, but funny poop. This will be the week of poo.

And to those who've complained that I write too often about vaginas, this is for you. You'll be on your knees begging me for vaginas before this week is over.