Martin was running the bath.
Fiona said, “I need to poo!”, and the upstairs reverberated with her footsteps in the hall.
And then it came. A heart-rending howl of horror and despair from Martin, followed by Fiona’s bitter weeping. And I realised instantly that Fiona’s low spirits had been due to digestive difficulties, and that these problems had suddenly become much worse. And Martin hates that kind of thing.
Those of you, dear readers, who have or have had a three year old know what sort of a scene I walked into in the bathroom upstairs. You need no description.
And those of you who do not know, from bitter experience, do not want to know. Please trust me on this.
Awwww… bad luck.
With great apologies to Martin, I must say this report made me chuckle. Kind of the way some people laugh nervously, even hysterically, when another person slips and falls in an awkward way.
Martin may take solace in the fact that he will be done with all of these unfortunate accidents LONG before we are over here. In fact, he will be done before age 40. Take heart.