(MB, age 3, a little bruiser)
In honor of My Beloved’s birthday week, a favorite story of mine from his childhood:
Li’l MB was about 4 or 5. His mom, a nurse, was called into the hospital on an emergency and dad was at work, too, so Li’l MB and his brother were dashed off to the nearest babysitter: Cecilia Sloan, reluctant wife of Rocky Sloan.
Li’l MB and brother spent the afternoon playing nicely with each other; they were good little boys, well brought up, having a good little day. Cecilia, however, was apparently NOT having a good day. She was getting drunk.
Now, every good little boy, even in the midst of the most riveting afternoon of play, will need a potty break. Some little boys just go behind a bush, barely missing a beat. Other, better boys will stop, go in the house, and do their business. But the very best boys, finding themselves at, oh, say, someone else’s home, will ask permission to go in the house and relieve themselves.
MB, as I have established, was one of the very best boys. And when the need for a potty break presented itself in pressing fashion, he respectfully approached the boozy Cecilia Sloan, reluctant wife of Rocky Sloan.
Now, as the son of a nurse, he had learned the medically correct terms for the body’s vital excretory functions. In MB’s childhood home, there were no such words as “pee” or “poop” or “tinkle” or “wee wee.” And there were ABSOLUTELY no such words as “yellow potty” or “dirty potty,” the descriptive phrases used by Ritchie and Brian, Li’l MB’s troglodytic, melon-headed friends.
No. He and brother were taught to say “urinate” and “defecate.”
So L’il MB approached the sotted Cecilia Sloan:
” ‘Scuse me. I have to defecate.”
“What!?” Cecilia Sloan slurred.
“I have to defecate!”
“What?!? You’re suffocatin’!?”
“NOO-HO! I have to DEFECATE!” Li’l MB’s voice became urgent with need.
“SUFFOCATE!??”
“NOOO-HO!! I HAVE TO DEFECATE!!!”
Poor Li’l MB. He rocked on his heels, desperate, but Cecilia Sloan was soused, pie-eyed … stoned. She could NOT understand him, no matter how hard he tried. Maybe he should have said “dirty potty.”
Moments later, mom came to pick up her boys and a hysterical Li’l MB was in dire defecatin’ straits. A groggy Cecilia Sloan blurted:
“HE KEEPS SAYIN’ HE’S SUFFOCATIN’ !!”
Mom narrowed her eyes at silly Cecilia Sloan and looked down at her frantic, dancing boy.
“He’s NOT suffocating,” she replied, matter-of-factly. “He has to defecate!”
“Defecate?!”
Cecilia Sloan wheezed.
“What’s that?!?”
The question trailed in the air behind mom as she marched her poor little pooper home to meet his destiny.
