After a long and boring day at the office, Husband was a trooper and took me and The Swimmy to our (okay, his) favorite local family restaurant. It’s your typical suburban family, kids running around, video games in the corner with bubblegum machines full of crap that costs 25 cents and ends up all over the house / car, etc. And where all the little league, softball, soccer teams end up eating lunch after games.
You know. Whitebread America.
The Swimmy decides she has to go to the potty for like the gazillionth time and I’m about done patience-wise with her royal tushie-ness (butt for you non-yiddish speakers) with all this potty action.
So, we’re in the ladies room and The Swimmy decides she wants to go in the stall all by herself. I wait, wait, wait patiently over by the sink. She doesn’t stop talking the entire time.
In walks a lady who goes into the other stall. The Swimmy is still talking about how she is going to wash her hands all by herself when the lady in the next stall… farts.
“Mommy! The lady had a tushie-bubble!”
Mommy simultaneously cracks up and dies of embarrassment.
“She needs to wipe.”
Oh, my G-d.
The woman flushes and comes out. We look at each other briefly and I give her the “she’s a toddler and what’d’re ya gonna do?” sheepish shrug.
She is not amused.
And now… you are!