What the Dickens?

I feel like it's maybe time for a poop story.

You may feel that it is never, in fact, time for a poop story. And that's OK. 

Now you know where this is going.

Much like the penis in the plantation shutters, this is the kind of story that makes Nick shake his head and think there is something very wrong with me. But then I remind him that he adores me and so really, what's wrong with him?

Pretty sure he'd be happy if I never spoke of feces again. But (butt! ha!) how does one go through life like that?

A couple summers ago, we rented a little cabin near a lake in Maine.

It was small and cute, two bedrooms one bathroom, just perfect for the four of us, with trees around and a fire pit. It was a short walk to a cute little lake beach. Big lake, cute little beach, I mean.

Now, I've never considered myself a person with particularly unusual bowel movements. And I don't actually think it was me. It was the shape of the toilet bowl.

See, for some reason, my poops just wouldn't go down the toilet.

This didn't happen to anyone else in the family. I asked.

But still.

There didn't seem to be much to be done about it besides going out to the woods and getting a stick to poke it down. And then I'd take the stick back out and fling it into the woods.

I made sure to get sticks from the same area and throw them deep into the trees so that I could make sure that I wasn't picking up the same stick. And so that the kids were not in danger of gathering poo-poking-sticks to roast marshmallows.

Anyway, this one day I realized that my intransigent poop looked like a penis and testicles. Petite testicles, but still.

It wasn't the Virgin Mary on toast, but naturally, I was dying to show someone.

As you might imagine, the audience for this sort of thing is limited.

Nick is a hard no. In fact, India is really the only one. If there's something particularly extraordinary,  will tell each other and are always willing to look.

But Nick and the kids were down at the lake. And I certainly wasn't going to save it.

So I jumped on the WhatsApp group with two dear high school friends. I told them the situation and that I was dying, dyyyyyyyying to show someone.

And they were both like, hell yes, send it over, we want to see!

So I sent a photo, and I must say, they were impressed. 

And then I went out to the woods and got a new poking stick.