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6:17 a.m. - 2006-10-17


So last night we went out to dinner as a family and went to our giant mega conglomerate bookstore nearby because Andrew really wanted to look at their collection of I Spy books because he's a fiend for I Spy stuff.

I blame the school system.

Regardless, we went.

So I'm in charge of watching Andrew while Susie's off looking at Self Help books trying desperately to find "Staying Married To A Dumbass For Dummies".

Andrew's sitting in a chair, loudly reading the riddles inside his books.

I'm hypnotizing myself because everything I do these days revolves around some sort of hypnotism.

Andrew gets quiet.

I don't pay attention to him.

Suddenly, he's gone.

I'm now paying attention.

I go over to the I Spy section of the store and Andrew looks like a deer in headlights with his hand down the back of his pants.

I know what it means when the hand's down the back of the pants. He has to go poop and he's trying not to go because there's something more exciting like looking at I Spy books to do than go poop.

"Andrew," I whisper. "Do you have to go poop?"

"Yes," he whispers back.

"Well come on," I said, yanking his hand out of his pants. "Let's go to the bathroom."

"NO!" Andrew said. "IT'S COMING OUT NOW!"

Because this is a mega-bookstore, we are rougly six miles from the restroom.

I go to pick Andrew up and start jogging towards the bathroom but Andrew fights my picking him up.

I'm guessing he thought the jostling of his body around would cause the poop to spill out.

So I grab his hand and say "C'mon!"

We start moving as fast as a kid who's trying to keep his thighs locked and his butt clinched can move.

"Ohhhh" Andrew's moaning. "OOOOOOHHHH!!!"

I'm halfway expecting to see poop soup spilling out the back of his pants the way the kid was moaning.

We get all the way down the main aisle and take a left at the magazines towards the bathroom.

"Ohhhh noooooo!!" he's YELLING. "OHHHHH NOOOOOOOOO!!!"

By this point, everyone in the magazine area is looking up and watching me guide a five year-old kid towards the bathroom who was moaning with his hand down the back of his pants.

Mortified much?

We finally get to the bathroom and he ... he ... he explodes.

I can't get his pants yanked off quick enough.

There is poop everywhere.

Welcome to Andrew's first public accident or ... as I like to call it ... Poopapalooza.

I get him situated on the toilet and he no longer has to go.

Which is understandable since he has about a gallon of feces in his pants.

There are no paper towels in the bathroom. Just the hand dryer thing.

So I'm cleaning him up with wads of toilet paper. Which really isn't easy in a public bathroom stall.

Trrrrust me.

Meanwhile, Andrew's no longer worried about shitting himself because the damage is done and now I'm doing nothing more than inconveniencing him because he could be out there reading more I Spy books.

So he's trying to leave while butt naked.

I'm trying to clean the shit off his legs, his underwear, his pants and the toilet seat with cheap toilet paper and now I'm having to find ways to humor him in order to keep him in the bathroom stall.

Men are walking in and urinating in rapid succession as they hear me saying "Don't touch the poop Andrew, leave it alone, I'll get it, leave it alone, don't touch the poop, I'll get it, leave it alone, don't touch the poop Andrew."


Now I know how John Mark Karr feels.

Finally, and by God, I must pat myself on the back here because I'm apparently the McGuyver of cleaning shit up, I get him spotless and his clothes shit-free.

We both scrub our hands clean and he runs out of the bathroom, singing merrily while I emerge completely frazzled.

People in the magazine aisle are grinning ... knowingly.

We pass the self-help aisle and Susie's all oblivious to the shit I've had to do (literally).

I let Andrew look at one more book and we get out of there.

There's no moral to the story.

I just hope that's the last time that ever happens.

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