Posted on January 3, 2007


Today I informed my mother, novel in hand, that I was off to take a poo. “How will you do it?” she asked. I paused for a second before replying that I was obviously going to do it the regular way, using the usual parts. I know she was only expressing solicitousness over what she knows in a very painful ordeal for me, but what, exactly, did she conceive were my possible evacuation options? Was I to fashion a colostomy bag from toilet paper, or perform some sort of MacGyver surgery using tweezers and dental floss?
I wish that for once, my mother would consider thinking for even ONE second before making stupid remarks. Of course, this habit of hers is outweighed by her many, many lovable qualities, but it gets on my nerves.