Indy
02-23-2005, 03:47 AM
This is an excerpt of an e-mail I sent my brother, who is currently in the Air Force. Being the kind brother that he is, and understanding the damage to my credibility that such a message could have, he passed it along to his entire unit. They enjoyed it immensely--and now I pass it along to you.
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.....I think she's got this walking thing down pat. I went to take a leak this evening, and left the door open--not thinking much about it. I was in mid-stream when I heard the determined stomp of little feet--double time--and I could tell she was headed my way. Usually I have to fend her off from playing in the toilet bowl when I'm trying to raise the tide, and braced myself for a rousing game of "block the baby and keep your hands dry". Well, she had another game she wanted to play.
What happened next, happened faster than anything I have witnessed in parenthood. Picture if you will, me in standard pissing position--one hand on the equipment, the other at my side, at the ready to fend off any side attacks launched by "The Boo"--all while keeping close eye on my aim. As I'm looking down, I see a flash of something pass from between my legs and land with a splash. The sound was uncannily like the depth charges you hear in those old submarine movies. Before I can react, another object object comes from the same trajectory and position. At this point, I am convinced I'm being attacked, yet am powerless to do anything about it--for I am still in mid-stream. After the initial shock, I look into the toilet and find two contact cases bobbing around in the toilet.
At this point, I'm confronted with two options: break flow and attempt to fish the offending objects out of the toilet, or finish what I started and figure out the details later.
What I'm about to say here is not something I'm proud of, but must be mentioned as it has bearing on my decision. You see, this is not the first time we've played this game. My rookie season was a few weeks ago when she introduced me to the game by tossing a sock into the toilet. That time, I acted purely on instinct, lunging for the sock with my free hand (it was morning and logic hadn't kicked in yet). In hindsight, I made a mistake by not breaking flow--but sometimes you can only learn by experience.
You can probably guess what happened next. Yes, I pissed on my hand. Like I said, I'm not proud of this moment, and it wouldn't be a life lesson if insult wasn't added to injury. When my brain realized that we were being pissed on, it decided to take charge and commanded my nervous system to reverse direction on all body parts that were in motion. Notice that I said body parts in motion. Those that were not in motion followed Newton's Law and chose to stay at-rest. This includes the hand that was directing the flow. So now I've gone from pissing on myself to pissing on the toilet, and ultimately my feet. Insult is now added to injury.
Finally, I come to my senses and revert to finishing the original task at hand, letting the sock fend for itself. With the task complete, I set about to dealing with the offending sock, then the offending child. Since I was already in there to take a shower, I bit the bullet, fished the sock out of the toilet, and deposited it in the sink. As I reflected on the moment, watching the steam rise up from the sink, I questioned whether it was worth it to salvage that sock--a thought that brings me back to the contact cases.
So here I am--again--faced with a foreign object in my toilet. Wisely, I realize that the use of any bathroom or kitchen implement to fish these items out would be met with severe disapproval from my wife. I weigh my options and decide that I'm going to have to use my hands. I look down at the two floating contact cases, do some quick mental math, and decide the odds are good that the cases are seaworthy enough to survive the tempest unleashed by a flushed toilet. Did I mention I've never taken a physics class?
I now have two contact cases floating around somewhere in my household plumbing. I assume they found their way into the city sewer system with no trouble. But then, I never took a plumbing class either.
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.....I think she's got this walking thing down pat. I went to take a leak this evening, and left the door open--not thinking much about it. I was in mid-stream when I heard the determined stomp of little feet--double time--and I could tell she was headed my way. Usually I have to fend her off from playing in the toilet bowl when I'm trying to raise the tide, and braced myself for a rousing game of "block the baby and keep your hands dry". Well, she had another game she wanted to play.
What happened next, happened faster than anything I have witnessed in parenthood. Picture if you will, me in standard pissing position--one hand on the equipment, the other at my side, at the ready to fend off any side attacks launched by "The Boo"--all while keeping close eye on my aim. As I'm looking down, I see a flash of something pass from between my legs and land with a splash. The sound was uncannily like the depth charges you hear in those old submarine movies. Before I can react, another object object comes from the same trajectory and position. At this point, I am convinced I'm being attacked, yet am powerless to do anything about it--for I am still in mid-stream. After the initial shock, I look into the toilet and find two contact cases bobbing around in the toilet.
At this point, I'm confronted with two options: break flow and attempt to fish the offending objects out of the toilet, or finish what I started and figure out the details later.
What I'm about to say here is not something I'm proud of, but must be mentioned as it has bearing on my decision. You see, this is not the first time we've played this game. My rookie season was a few weeks ago when she introduced me to the game by tossing a sock into the toilet. That time, I acted purely on instinct, lunging for the sock with my free hand (it was morning and logic hadn't kicked in yet). In hindsight, I made a mistake by not breaking flow--but sometimes you can only learn by experience.
You can probably guess what happened next. Yes, I pissed on my hand. Like I said, I'm not proud of this moment, and it wouldn't be a life lesson if insult wasn't added to injury. When my brain realized that we were being pissed on, it decided to take charge and commanded my nervous system to reverse direction on all body parts that were in motion. Notice that I said body parts in motion. Those that were not in motion followed Newton's Law and chose to stay at-rest. This includes the hand that was directing the flow. So now I've gone from pissing on myself to pissing on the toilet, and ultimately my feet. Insult is now added to injury.
Finally, I come to my senses and revert to finishing the original task at hand, letting the sock fend for itself. With the task complete, I set about to dealing with the offending sock, then the offending child. Since I was already in there to take a shower, I bit the bullet, fished the sock out of the toilet, and deposited it in the sink. As I reflected on the moment, watching the steam rise up from the sink, I questioned whether it was worth it to salvage that sock--a thought that brings me back to the contact cases.
So here I am--again--faced with a foreign object in my toilet. Wisely, I realize that the use of any bathroom or kitchen implement to fish these items out would be met with severe disapproval from my wife. I weigh my options and decide that I'm going to have to use my hands. I look down at the two floating contact cases, do some quick mental math, and decide the odds are good that the cases are seaworthy enough to survive the tempest unleashed by a flushed toilet. Did I mention I've never taken a physics class?
I now have two contact cases floating around somewhere in my household plumbing. I assume they found their way into the city sewer system with no trouble. But then, I never took a plumbing class either.