with Barry Dingle
I love kids. Not in a weird way. They understand me and I, them. But sometimes they are odd ducks and they make you feel uncomfortable. They become the hot girl who sits in front of you that makes you feel awkward every time you breathe. Hmm, comparing children to hot girls you fantasize about... No, that's not creepy.
Sitting, silent, peaceful. Little soft scraps diving into the water, making beautiful ripples for their friends to land and begin the ultimate synchronized swim routine. Wonderful. Then that little shit (male child) came in and crapped on my solitude.
He comes in and stops in front of my stall for entirely too long -- seven or eight seconds at least. Probably more. He finally goes to the other stall, stops, and comes back, staring at my stall. What are you looking at, punk ass? I almost walked out with my dick, balls, and shit hanging out to slap this weird clown. He was creeping me out and that's obviously hard to do.
After an eternity, he goes into the oversized handicapable stall and TRIES to poop. I use that word because little buddy was having some trouble. All the strains and effort almost made me feel bad for the creepy little bastard.
I didn't stick around to find out what happened but I hope he got it all out. Maybe God was punishing him for staring at me with his x-ray vision. After all, it's one of the Ten Commodements.
3.20.09
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