29th
Shrieky Poo
The sound of my scream carried through the apartment. A wake of stillness followed the signal of my distressed man-sized alarm beacon. Danae, forcefully waddled through her own physical discomfort, driven by a motherly instinct to heal. She thought that she would surely find me, sprawled on the ground, bleeding with a gash on my head.
My frozen silhouette, right hand extended from my waist, rigid and tight, told a different story. My daughter, Sophie, had just streamed a trajectory of poop 4 times her height, the length of our changing table. My right arm was a casual, although not innocent, bystander. I was hit. I was shat on by my daughter.
My face contained all of the emotions, expected and other wise, of someone who just lost their “shat on” virginity. Are you experienced?
