Subject: A Morning at the Piddle Parlor

Date: 20 Oct 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: nospamum@radix.net (Mumthra)

Organization: RadixNet Internet Services

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free

 

 

 

 

[I wrote this sometime last week and forgotted all about it]

 

Our most trafficked bathroom is about five feet square, which is

plenty of room for one person to navigate safely, or at least I think

it would be, if I'd ever been in there alone.

 

This morning I was helping Spunky spell the finishing touches on her

newest portrait of Sparky. It was a outstanding in its detail and

inclusion of huge orange hands.

 

As Sparky thumped into the bathroom, I was spelling s-o-m-e-b-o-d-y

for Spunky. Then Sparky called out for help with the tissue. They

change more tissue rolls than I do, and it pleases me out of all

proportion, since it is one of the very few examples of compassion in

action. I had to wonder then, what sort of "help" she needed.

 

I walked in and closed the door. She had struggled a new package of 24

rolls out from under the sink, but couldn't tear the wrapping from it.

I gave it a try, and had just about freed a new roll for her when a

piece of paper flew under the door and skittered against my feet.

 

"Mail's here!" yelled Spunky. "Getcher MAIL!!"

 

I picked it up and read it to Sparky, "From Love Somebody," and handed

it over. The door slammed open, fortunately missing my toes.

 

"Do you know who it is?" enthused Spunky. "It's YOU, Sparky! Your mail

is a picture of you!" The baby crawled into the room. "Hey, Bo, c'mon

in with us!" Baby Bo stood up and made her patented frantic panting

noise and slammed the door shut. "Whoa. I fink I smell a poopy

diaper."

 

I opened the cabinet under the sink so that I could put the 23

remaining rolls away, but Bo dove into the cabinet before I could

maneuver them into storage. Spunky closed the cabinet.

 

When Bo didn't complain, I said, "At least we can't smell her so much

now."

 

"I fink I need a drink," declared Spunky. She dove for the sink,

bumpin me and Sparky and causing the new roll of tissue to fly into

the air, hit the tile rolling and unfurl a few feet.

 

Nobody thought to ask for a bandaid, and we weren't visited by a

manicurist, a nurse, or a repairman, but we would have let them right

in if they'd knocked.