I am sooo tempted to leave it at that, but I realize a bit of explaining may be in order. Shall I begin again, dear reader?
My kids have issues. They come by those issues honestly, but still they have issues. Their issues make me wanna pronounce the word as if if were a department all it's own at the WalMarts.
Doesn't it conjure up images of footwear?
If I were a sweet southern gentlewoman, I would pronounce the word in a breathy voice and it would be somehting like
Ish-uhs. You know, with a little sigh at the end.
It just occurred to me that I may watch too many made for tv movies on the Lifetime channel.
The Lifetime movie thing again . . .
Have I mentioned that it is my chickadees that have the issues? Anytime we walk into a public building, one (or all of them) is asking me where the bathroom is located. Now, since they were toddlers we have always enforced the go-to-the-bathroom-before-you-leave-the-house rule. Of course, during those potty-training years we were more vigilant about it. Hyper-vigilant, even. Now, since they are ten, eight and seven, I was under the
But I do. Whenever we are in a public place. They cannot sit still in the booth in a restaurant until they have seen the inside of the restroom first.
But, the worst, is that they make their urgent needs know the moment we walk into any and all WalMarts. I kid you not when I say that they have seen every WM restroom from the northern most tip of Ohio to the southeast end of Texas. It's like a magnetic force takes over their sweet little minds and their bodies cannot resist the pull.
What is it about the WalMarts?! Ugh . . .
It is the Buster of Bladder Control.
The Siren Song of the Splash and Dash.
The Pied Piper of Pee.
I guess I could look at the bright side of things and be thankful that they are doing a lot of hand washing as a result of all those restroom visits.
If only I could truly be certain of that . . .
Counting it all hand-sanitizing joy,