I Really Stepped In It
Last week my mom sent me an email with the subject line "Poop." This isn't particularly odd, considering the sense of humor in our family. I opened the email to see this video:
Sure, it was funny, but the point was, as my mother pointed out later when she posted the video to her Facebook page, that it was a "WashingTina moment." I had forgotten about it until yesterday when I saw this article in The Washington Post. And that got me thinking about poop and something that happened to me in elementary school.
I was in the third grade and it was a spring afternoon. The weather had gotten nice, and I was wearing a pair of white sandals that went with my outfit. We were having story time (or whatever it was called) in the afternoon, sitting in a circle, listening to our teacher read us a story. And I had to go. I asked the teacher, got the pass, and slipped out the door. The girl's bathroom was maybe three or four doors down the hall. As I pushed open the door and walked into the bathroom, I stepped in something. Something that shouldn't have been there. Poop. I slipped out of my shoe, leaving my cute sandal stuck in the mystery poop, and hopped down the hall to my classroom.
I don't remember the exact details of what happened next, but I will never forget the conversation that followed. My teacher, Miss Massey, looked at me and knew something was up.
Sure, it was funny, but the point was, as my mother pointed out later when she posted the video to her Facebook page, that it was a "WashingTina moment." I had forgotten about it until yesterday when I saw this article in The Washington Post. And that got me thinking about poop and something that happened to me in elementary school.
I was in the third grade and it was a spring afternoon. The weather had gotten nice, and I was wearing a pair of white sandals that went with my outfit. We were having story time (or whatever it was called) in the afternoon, sitting in a circle, listening to our teacher read us a story. And I had to go. I asked the teacher, got the pass, and slipped out the door. The girl's bathroom was maybe three or four doors down the hall. As I pushed open the door and walked into the bathroom, I stepped in something. Something that shouldn't have been there. Poop. I slipped out of my shoe, leaving my cute sandal stuck in the mystery poop, and hopped down the hall to my classroom.
I don't remember the exact details of what happened next, but I will never forget the conversation that followed. My teacher, Miss Massey, looked at me and knew something was up.
Miss Massey: What happened to your shoe?
WashingTina: It's in the bathroom.
MM: Why?
WT: Because I stepped in poop.
MM: Where?
WT: In the bathroom.
MM: What was it doing there?
WT: I don't know.
MM: Was it yours?
WT: No.
MM: Who's poop was it?
WT: I don't know.
MM: How did it get there?
WT: I don't know.I can't remember what happened next, but I'm guessing a janitor was summoned to clean up the mess and retrieve my shoe. We never did find out the owner of the mystery poop, either. But one thing's for certain, I never wore those shoes again. I guess my mom was right, it was a WashingTina moment . . . so where are my royalties?
LOL. My favorite part of that ... "how did it get there?" Well ... it's a bathroom :)
ReplyDeleteMy favorite part is "Who's is it?" That still cracks me up 25 years later!
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