|NOTE: reading material on my left|
There's an old saying, "The Apple Doesn't Fall Far From the Tree."
That may be somewhat applicable here.
I like to read blogs written by people with talent. Or, more specifically, people with talent who make me laugh. So, it was with the Wednesday Just Keepin' It Real, Folks! which described something called "Poopouri Spray." It's a no-kidding product which helps you...wait, what am I doing? You'll just have to click on the link yourself to find out. Put it this way, you'll laugh at the same time you'll be going (hmm..."going"...poor choice of words perhaps?) "Ewwwww!!!"
Anyway, I commented that the spray reminded me of an episode from my childhood.
My father wasn't terribly modest. Thankfully, he never pranced about the house naked-that would have been too much and would have gotten him arrested even in the 60s.
What I mean is that he was a little, shall we say, casual about his bathroom habits.
The one bathroom that we had was at the end of a hallway at the top of our stairs. Family members or, God help us, visitors were treated to the vision of our toilet as they ascended to the second floor. This was even before the old man swathed the bowl, bathtub, and floor in shag carpet, it was kinda skeevy.
Thankfully, not too many people visited.
The old man, for whatever frikkin' reason, refused to shut the door when he had to...uh...go (see why I thought "going" was a poor choice of words?). Now, standing up for #1 (so to speak) wasn't too bad because he was usually quick, but, sadly, not accurate (remember the shag carpet? Oh. Yeah.)
However, when he decided he had to do the other nasty bit o' business, he still left the door open. So, we children were treated to a Lavatorial Wizard of Oz whenever we went upstairs.
He made things worse by bringing a copy of the Bridgeport Post with him and lighting up a butt before placing his butt on the bowl. Apparently, he planned to stay, thus generating a funk which would creep down the stairs and into the kitchen like a noisome fog.
Hmmm, how ya like supper?
I remember one day hearing these horrific screams coming from the bathroom. Fearing the worst, I rushed upstairs along with my brothers to see our father, madly jumping up and down, pants around his ankles, smacking himself in the crotch with the paper.
Apparently, he got a little too cavalier about flicking his ashes in the bowl and ended up setting his pubes on fire.
Reading this, I'm sure you've arrived at a couple conclusions:
1. Is it any wonder that I am like I am?
2. Cancer and lung-related maladies aren't the only reason smoking is hazardous for your health.
|Hey, I'm not at the top of the stairs anyway.|