Here’s a poem for you, but don’t read it if you scare easy.
POEM OF MOUNTING TERROR
_______ by Jimmy Stalwart
I’ll never forget that moment
As horrid as could be.
A silent mass of water
Rushed and ran at wide-eyed me.
My eyes beheld a mounting terror.
In my breast my heart was pounding
As closer, closer, closer still
Came the warning danger sounding.
I chilled and shook and trembled too,
And cried, “What gosh-darn luck!”
And stook in helpless, gasping fear,
As the potty handle stuck.
How many times has it happened to you? Me, I don’t even want to think about it.
As far as I’m concerned a little puerile humor never hurt anybody. In fact, it helped keep us sane in our old house in Seattle’s Capitol Hill neighborhood.
To make up for its lack of accommodation there were three doors leading to the bathroom. The doors were badly chipped and scarred from the violence inflicted upon them. Locks were constantly broken. Frantic victims were always trying to break in to relieve themselves while the room was otherwise occupied.
Baths were a group affair. The room had a tub, no shower. Up to four or five little girls at a time in the big pink tub. Then, like royalty, the two boys got to sail their boats and rubber duckies in regal and roomy solitude.
When my sister Joan, with my little niece Chris and baby nephew Tim came to visit from Cedar Rapids, there were 12 of us sharing the loo. People in diapers were more than welcome, but my sister had to fend for herself.
One day the plumber came to make yet another a repair while Joan was there. He surveyed the nine children having lunch and said to Joan, “Is this a nursery school?” “No, it isn’t”, she said. He kept shaking his head. We couldn’t stop laughing, but I don’t think he was amused. And who could blame him? Through the years, his life’s work had become centered on fixing that toilet. And here it was’t even a nursery school.
To close on an inspirational note, here’s some potty one-liners.
And finally . . . . .