Tomorrow marks exactly one month since a majority of British voted to collectively dump on the European Union and came out decidedly stinkier. This whole time, I’ve been mentally associating Brexit with a story I read in Angry People in Local Newspapers around the same time. Though admittedly irrelevant, it’s got all the spectacular outrage and fear-mongering, and even a stinking pile of poo at the center!
Go on, you say?
So get this: Just days before the Brexit vote, a full-grown woman dropped trou in a supermarket parking lot in East Yorkshire to answer the call of doodie, as it were. She staggered about pantslessly for a moment, effectively mooning before downloading a brownload in front of a 14-year-old boy and his mother, who described the incident as “disgusting.” She complained that even younger children might have seen this, and that such a sight could “mentally disturb” or even “upset them a lot.”
Luckily, this matter is decidedly simpler to address than Brexit. In fact, I’ve found myself intermittently addressing this stranger for the past month. So, to mark this one-month anniversary, and hopefully exorcise these thoughts from my mind, here’s my open response to the worried East Yorkshire mum:
My fellow mother, I hope you don’t mind my bringing this up, but at this time of national upheaval, I thought you might need some reassurance on at least one point. I understand that you were upset. Rightly so! You did not purchase front-row tickets to that sh*t show, nor even the moon walk that opened for it. And I can only surmise that you were suffering from shock-related momnesia there, because…
Do you REMEMBER younger children?
Because for younger children, potty time is always, always a public spectacle. At school, it’s literally a supervised group activity. At home, too, really. And I’m pretty sure that at least one of my kids, aged 4 and 2, has left their mark on every park in town. They do not seem to get why I first try to usher them behind a bush.
So inured have I become to bathroom audiences that the lock on our powder room door doesn’t work, and I didn’t even know that until last week, when a visiting friend suddenly shrieked. I came running, of course, and when I saw that my toddler son had opened the door on her, it took me half a minute to figure out what the damn problem was.
Yesterday I very nearly left my stall door hanging wide open in a public ladies room, because my preschooler was using the adjacent stall, and I instinctively wanted to eliminate barriers between us in order to provide her much-needed moral support.
I assure you that, had my younger kids witnessed this “carpark” scene, they more than likely would not have even noticed. And, either way, my car-freak son would have been genuinely more impressed by the green Chevy Captiva Mrs. Bricklayer allegedly sauntered into next.
At this point, I’m not even sure if I would have noticed.
As I said before, I have two kids under 5. Not long ago, I anxiously color-coded infant ejecta. I’m still on potty detail at least five times a day, not including my own bio breaks. At this stage in my life, there remains so little one could do to shock me, sanitarily speaking.
That’s why I find your story oddly comforting. Just think: someday I, too, may reclaim enough propriety to recoil in horror from the sight of another person’s tokus, even report it to the proper authorities!
Certainly I’d never suggest that adults should go fertilizing the flagstones outside the Asda, or that good citizens should not call out such behavior. My only point is that, given the recent economic instability and racial tensions within your country, you’ve had enough to process without having to also worry that your recent unfortunate parking lot encounter nearly traumatized some innocent, hypothetical younger child.
Perhaps your teenage boy truly has been lucky enough to witness nothing more disturbing than the scene you described in his 14 years on this Earth. I hope so! And only time will tell what deleterious effects more global excretions like Brexit may have on his and even younger generations.
But trust me, lady. When it comes to the literal kind of public poo-poo…
The little kids are fine.