Friday, May 8, 2009
A Personal Matter
Today I was eating a popsicle on the patio at PCC in Fremont, just loving the fact that my job on Fridays includes exactly that sort of thing. Popsicles. And small children.
My darling Gabs, who turned two on Saturday, was sitting on my lap when I felt the need to, um, break a little wind. I figured there were lots of people walking by chatting, cars vrooming past, dogs barking, and the usual Fremont hubbub of activists and clipboards. No one would notice my indiscretion.
So lo and behold, the child hears my (very minor, very ladylike) toot, and says, "Ooooooh, Holly. Poopy! Poopy diaper! Change your diaper, Holly!" And she is not at all timid in screaming these accusations. The kid is loud. And she isn't a mumbler either, every single bike commuter within earshot turned to look.
Of course I chuckled along and said, "Gee! What a bummer. You have to walk all the way home with a poopy diaper. BUMMER."
She looks at me, sees straight through my cover story, and scoffs, "SICK."