O. is only allowed to talk about bathroom things in the bathroom. In practice, this means that while she is in the bathroom, she talks about bathroom things almost entirely nonstop. Because I am loved, I was selected as the best victim to take to the bathroom at dinner last night. Also because I am a sucker and O.’s mom has been to the bathroom with her innumerable times so that the novelty has worn off.
I have been informed, as a result, about the progress of bowel movements, their relative qualities, their ease of production. I have participated in knock-knock jokes that went like this:
O.: Knock knock!
Me: Who’s there?
O.: Bathroom.
Me: Bathroom who?
O.: Bathroom poop! (Maniacal laughter…)
However, there was a digression there, in which O. offered to teach me to tap dance, since I was clearly woefully inadequate in that department, as evidenced by the tapping of my toes on the floor. I love that kid.
