You know those moments in life where you have to stop, look around, and make sure that what you thought just happened, happened? Of course you do. Well, I had one of those today, and while it may not be that legendary, I have to share with you. I still can’t believe it. Maybe you will, or not.
If you have read my other blogs from this month you may remember that we have some free time here in the afternoon. Most of our time goes to things like blogging…ok not really, we usually play cards. Today it was another epic game of Phase Ten, and though I hated to pull myself away for a restroom break. It had to happen. I ate some bad ice and it paid me back with tickets for the Express Supersonic D-Train. Wish I could return that favor. When I came through the door to the house there was a chicken chilling in the main room. Not that big of a deal, they get in sometimes, and they’re way better than the poisonous scorpion that I found on the bathroom floor. I decided to attempt to scare him back out the front door–no telling what kind of mischief a chicken will get into. I only managed to run him under Colby and Anthony’s bed. “Great,” I thought to myself, as I walked around the bed to put the chicken between me and the door. I figured I have him out now, but no. I shouted and hit the bed, but the dumb chicken ran towards the girl’s bed, made a circle, then ran into the bathroom.
This next part is where I thought I was dreaming. No sooner did the chicken disappear into the bathroom that I heard a splash of water. “No way,” I told myself, surely those things can smell. I did hope my hardest for it not to be true, but he had jumped up on our raised squatty and fell into it. “Gross!” I exclaimed as he climbed out of the water. With no other options and faced with a stand off for use of the toilet, I grabbed the ladle we use for bathing and flushing and smacked him with it. What happened next will likely haunt me till my grave. First he crapped all over the place, not in the bowl, mind you. Then he flapped his nasty, poo water covered wings, splashing me all over the arms, chest and face. He then left me, having finally discovered his lost sense of direction. This is the point where I was standing there saying things like “There’s no way in hell that just happened,” but it had. Believe it or not, I no longer needed to go. I think in moments like that, where you’re so traumatized you can hardly think straight, all other bodily functions lose their place on the priority list.
My face still smells like baby wipes and that Purrell Hand Sanitizer. I hate that smell.
Nick
