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|Can you smell the green stuff from here? I still can.|
- Give my used-to-be white, yet now, strangely splotchily mint-green, turkeypoop covered dog a bath. The aroma? My dear, you have NO idea.
- Be stuck as an adult suffering from a lack of voice that has been stolen by a wickedly evil cough, seated in the back of a school bus, while all the OTHER teachers have gotten OFF the bus “to see about tickets”, entombed in this unbelievably noisily confined space FILLED with over-the-top excited, SHRIEKING second graders on a field trip, inhaling exhaust fumes with every feeble breath, but with no voice with which to tell the little buggars: “YOUTH OF AMERICA, PIPE DOWN!!!”
- Go with those same 2nd graders to Chuck E. Cheese. God in Heaven: what have I ever done to displease you so???????????
- Go with ANYONE to Chuck E. Cheese. My kids are no longer toddlers. The mouse creeps me out, and so do the rest of the gargantuan creatures. And lets not even TALK about the odor of urine that rises up from that ball pit.
- (And while we’re on the topic of eating) Eat a White Castle or Krystal: Death Burger/Gut Bomb/Gut Grenade, as my friend Gina calls them.
- Sleep in a non-airconditioned concrete hut on a swelteringly hot summer night, on a concrete floor on a plastic/vinyl covered mattress that makes my skin sticky with sweat, and squeaks in my ear every time I shift my horribly uncomfortable self, all. night. long. It seemed like the dawn would NEVER come that night.
- Change the full-to-the-brim-and-overflowing-out-the-top-of-the-backside of the diaper of a baby who has been constipated for 4 days, and who has recently enjoyed a sulfurous meal of eggs and spinach. Lots and lots of greeeeeeeen spinach. In a public place. Like leaning over to change the baby who is lying on the back seat of my car.
- Clean out the toilet/powder room of your friend’s gazillion dollar home, where my once again constipated child (who by this time has graduated on into toddlerhood) has taken himself to “go potty” before I end my visit to said mansion, where I discover the child has unraveled and dropped an entire roll of toilet paper into the poopiefied murkiness of the toilet, which has now overflowed onto the floor of the gazillion dollar home.
- Eat fried oysters. (See this post for further details.)
- Give myself a DIY Bioré strip facial. (That link will tell you more than you ever wanted to know about why NOT.)
This post was written in response to a writing prompt I found here, where you can find links to a whole lot more really great posts: