If you are a parent you probably have engaged in the joyful experience of having had some mystery substance wiped all over you. It is part of the fun of being a parent. You haven’t lived until you have been covered in toddler snot or some other interesting semi-liquid substance has been excreted all over you.
My own parents claim that I am the reigning spit up champion of the world. Ask my father and he’ll tell you that I could send projectiles hurtling at the speed of light with such force that they would knock holes in the wall. Family legend has it that as a wee lad the mere threat of my presence was enough to make grownups shake in their boots, or at least grab a raincoat.
This helps to explain why he thinks that there is nothing funnier than watching my daughter wipe her sticky hands on me. Hands that only fifteen seconds before were clean enough to pass a general’s review suddenly are coated with some unknown material that is so sticky you could use it to permanently attach concrete blocks to steel beams.
As a general rule I make a point not to lick my fingers or eat anything until after I have disinfected myself. Ok, that is a baldfaced lie. I am almost immune to the ravages of the sticky substance and have little to no problem in eating, especially if it is still moving.
Objects that are still moving always attract the hunter/gatherer in me. Maybe that is why I still chase cars, I don’t know.
Here is something that many nonparents are unaware of, the bathtub is a great place to learn things that you never really wanted to know. I know, you are wondering what could a place dedicated to hygiene teach you. Is it something related to soap? Is there some amazing trick you can do with shampoo?
The answer my friends is that the tub is where you find out that your kid’s crap may not stink in your eyes, but that shit really does float. Oh my lord, can you imagine the pride and joy in your eyes when you realize that you didn’t place any brown, amorphous toys into the tub.
If you haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing this than I wish that you get a chance to see what I am talking about. There is nothing better than trying to figure out how to get the child and crap out of the tub at the same time. You only hope that the little bugger doesn’t decide to take a hands on approach to learning about this mysterious substance.
I am a little superstitious so I won’t say that this is never going to happen, but thus far I am luckier than some of my friends. One of the boys found that his little boy engaged in some fecal reproduction of a Jackson Pollack painting in his master bath. When he told me about it I suggested that he try and enter it into some kind of art contest, or at least try and get the Guggenheim to approve it as art. At least that way he could get a writeoff and make a couple of bucks off of it.
For some reason he didn’t find any of this to be funny. Neither did he try taking my advice. Oh well.
On a more personal note my beautiful baby girl is teething again. Not only does this do wonders for her personality it has turned her nose into a faucet. I need to find a way to turn this surplus of mucus into a money making venture. I wonder if I can sell it on eBay.