The cry came from above. Well, upstairs at least… The heavenly voice was Irina, asking a most unheavenly question. ” John, have you emptied Anna’s potty?”
Right, now lets get this into perspective! I am somewhat Coprophobic ! I hate shitty things. When Chris & Irina first stayed with us to have the baby I made one thing clear (well, maybe two things!) – I can’t breastfeed, and I don’t do nappies. Carol has the singular pleasure of sorting out the dog-shit in the house. On the odd occasion when poor Gwen is taken for a walk by me, I am left gagging at the thought of clearing up after her. So, “did I empty Anna’s potty?!”? No bloody chance!
Hmm, Irina left it in the bathroom: she maintains that she has not had a memory lapse – which would be entirely forgiveable given how little sleep she actually gets each night -and that ‘miraculously’ Anna’a morning offering had been deposited down the loo. Chris was walking – just – but had not really made it to consciousness. He gruntingly denied everything (life, the universe). Carol, on the other hand – horribly awake and bouncing, waxed lyrical in her worse Irish accent, about the “Miracle of St Anna and the Immaculate Potty” . Ask yourself, would you want to be living in this household? I have sectioned people for less than this!
Anyway, the story was forgotten as the Vatican took no interest in creating a shit free new Welsh saint for children, and we got on with our own particular brand of sanity.
That was on the weekend. sadly, like most miracles, there is often a logical explanation. Tuesday morning: Carol leaves for work at an unearthly hour. Everyone else sleeps on. Finally, St Anna awakes, and Irina & Chris carry on with the excitement of daily routine. John is rescued from the Arms of Morpheus by a message from Chris.. “John, don’t let Gwen lick you, she has just cleared Anna’s potty!”
And the moral of the story? That’s up to you!