The Crapper

There is one place in my house that I consider mine.   Even though there might be a rubber ducky sitting next to me along with a bottle of bath bubbles with Elmo on it and a toy boat, I still call this place my own. It one place that I can lock the door open up a magazine read it with no interruptions.

That is what I said before the Kid was mobile.  Now that place is no longer a safe zone.  If I close the door and lock it, the screaming two year old tantrums ensue. No use trying to read about the Dino Costa radio show in my Men’s Journal.

As a result I sit there in my God given glory I keep the door open so that a two year old can play in the bathroom as I do my business.  Why he would is beyond me!  There are times I can not stand it.

What the hell though, he isn’t really bothering me.  I let him come in and play with some of his bath toys even though he isn’t taking a bath. I continue to read about the trials and tribulations of Dino Costa and his rise to being a DJ on XM/Sirius Radio.

I hear “poo” come from his mouth.  Looking up from my magazine I see him there holding his toilet seat wanting to take my place.

“Do you really have to go poo?”

The next words are words I will remember forever.  Why? Well for one I have never heard him place these two words together before.  Two, well it was the reason why I had to hurry and do my business.

“I DO!”

You know I was OK with it when the Kid would play but now he thinks just because I am doing it, he needs to do it.

All I want is some peace and quiet to do my business.

Comments

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Comments

  1. JamesHudyma says:

    How the heck are we supposed to get any serious thinking done if our crapper time is stolen from us?

  2. AskAGreatDad says:

    My daughter jiggles the door handle like Morty Seinfeld. I need my time time in the bathroom. It’s the only safe room I have left, and I have started to take 30 min showers.

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