Enchilada Surprise

I met my wife and her sister and our families for dinner at a Mexican restaurant last night. Before the food arrived, Zachary (my five-year-old) started complaining that he was too full to eat. Just as the food arrived he said he had to go to the bathroom. Oh joy.

I led him to the back, past the bar, and into the grungy little bathroom. I asked, hopefully, whether he had to do #1 or #2. It was #2, of course. He was holding his midsection and groaning. I went into the bathroom and was appalled to see a brown film on part of the toilet. I said, "Zach, there's poo on the toilet." He groaned and said, "Just wipe it off, Dad." Are you kidding?

By this time he was moaning, "Oh Dad, Oooohhh", so holding it until we got home was obviously out of the question, although I personally wanted to run for my life after one look at the toilet. However, something had to be done, and I was obviously the one to do it.

Why do public restrooms always have these gargantuan rolls of sissy-tissue? The kind that, once you tear it off, is only about a millimeter wide? I balled up a rain-forest's worth of tissue in my hand and set to "cleaning up", wretching the whole while. What kind of human being would get poo on the side of a toilet? But no time for reflection and contemplation, there's a job to be done!

I used up another hundred trees' worth of tissue shrink-wrapping the toilet. Zachary obviously thought I was taking too long, and kept groaning in my ear. Finally the task was completed, and I gingerly hoisted the little booger onto my creation, praying that porcelain would not suddenly become exposed. Success. I stood back and waited, suddenly realising that my food was getting colder by the minute.

Then Zachary said, "Daddy, we're going to be in here a looong time."