Port-A-Potty Nonsense

I love my sister-in-law, Lori, for so many reasons. First of all, she was my best friend for six years before she insisted that I marry her brother. So, I owe her that. Mostly though, I find her hilarious.

There was the time we were walking into church together and she fell into a snowdrift upside down leaving her skirt to cover the wrong part of her body. Or the time we were playing Pictionary and she got so frustrated she slammed her head on the table and sported a deep, purple bruise across her forehead for the next two weeks. Or the time she searched through the McDonald's trash for an hour before she found her "missing" keys in her pocket.

Last week she was at her son's baseball game and held out as long as she could before she finally decided to use the port-a-potty. Nothing can make me as grateful for modern day conveniences like a port-a-potty can. A port-a-potty experience is never a good one, and, certainly, one in which spontaneous decisions should never be made. She dared. While holding her breath and moving at lightening speed, she suddenly had the thought that she was sick to death of her piece of old, flavorless gum. She had to get rid of it. Now. "Simple," she thought to herself. "I'll just quickly toss it down this repulsive, bottomless hole." And so she did.

Mission accomplished, she returned to the hot, metal bleachers to bake in the sun, cheer in the appropriate places, and collect in her waistband the sweat rolling down her back. The team did great, and they headed home sweaty, but happy.

After a long afternoon at a baseball game, nothing feels better than a shower. But for her, a shower was more complicated than expected. This was due mainly to the discarded port-a-potty gum which had somehow ended up in her underwear instead of the bottomless hole. After being squished into her skin by the hot, metal, bleacher for hours, it became smeared by sweat and walking motions all across her nether regions.

"Kevin!" she called from her bathroom. "Bring the peanut butter and come here." With fear in his heart, Kevin visited her in the bathroom and analyzed the damage.

"How can you not notice gooey gum baking on your behind?" Kevin reasonably asked.
"Well, my underwear did keep sticking to me, but I just thought I was sweating a lot," Lori explained.
"But, wasn't it sticky?"
"Yes. I just kept adjusting."

Being a wise man, Kevin put his foot down and sent her into the shower alone with a jar of peanut butter and a bottle of Goo Gone.

It was a long shower.

She didn't smell like flowers when it was over.