Remember your friend from college who used to insist on taking a picture of his defecation and text to everyone in the group? If you don’t, lucky you. If you still have this friend, maybe you shouldn’t. If you are this friend, stop it! Now, imagine that giant shit that your friend is strangely proud of had a remote control right next to it.
Allow me to explain. A little backstory: my daughter, now 2 and a half is recently potty trained. We’ve got it pretty much down, but she still has this thing. She always starts to shit in her pants. She won’t finish in her pants, but she gets the turtle head out of the shell before she says she has to poop. I think you get the picture.
One day she started her daily shit in her Dory underwear per usual. We ran to the bathroom, her doing her best John Wayne impression. Because walking with shit in your pants is really hard work. We get to the bathroom with enough time for her to finish her shadoobie in the appropriate arena. I peeled her underwear off of her, careful not to smear shit all over the front of the toilet…again.
Meanwhile, my 1-year-old is walking around chewing on the remote control for the TV because, well, I’ve just given up as a parent. Keep in mind, he is obsessed with the toilet. We’ve already lost a DVD to him taking it for a little swim in the porcelain kiddie pool. Typically, he only keeps her company while she’s pinching one off. He’s just sitting in wait for her to be done so he can go to town in the toilet water like God intended.
After my successful removal of the shit stained underwear, I ran upstairs to start a load of laundry, because….poop. When I came back downstairs I noticed the 1-year-old didn’t have the remote anymore. Not too strange as he usually leaves random stuff in random places all day long. I walked into the bathroom to see the girl one still sitting with a look of pride on her face over the stench that was coming from the toilet. “Good Girl!” she shouted as I asked her if she pooped. Her legs were slightly separated, and as I looked into the potty, I see something shiny.
“What’s in there?” I asked.
“I poop!!” She replied.
I took her off the toilet to wipe her nasty ass when I see it. A giant, grown man turd nestled next to our small, black television remote. My 1-year-old had sneaked it between her legs, mid shit mind you, and then continued about his business as if nothing had happened.
What. In. All. The. Fuck?!?!?! I got a pair of latex gloves that I normally only use when I cut up jalapenos and plucked the shit covered remote out of the toilet. There was no question in my mind to throw it away, but I knew that if we were going to buy a new one, we would need to know what the old one looked like. So, I kept it out to show my husband when he got home from work.
The minute he walked in the door was halfway through both a Bud Light and the story of what happened to our remote. This sick bastard, says we should keep the remote. I’m sorry. Are you fucking kidding me? There was literally nothing between it and shit. He replied, “Literally everything in this house has got to be covered in shit at this point,” and threw it in a bowl of rice to dry out. While I can’t argue with his logic about shit in the house, at least 2 of our kids have straight up shit on the floor in the living room, it’s totally different to see it…in the toilet…touching something you hold in your hand every day.
Much to my chagrin, the remote works. The rice worked, in case you were wondering. The fucking thing is sitting in my living room. While I have disinfected it with a bleach solution, I still refuse to use it. My husband just laughs at me. To which I simply reply, “You didn’t see it! You don’t know!”