Poop in a Pillowcase

This story will have random pictures, because no one wants to see pictures of poop in a pillowcase!

Part 1: Before I tell you what happened, you should know what happened earlier today. Earlier today, we had a massive failure involving a motorcycle and a U-Haul truck, and to make ourselves feel better, we ate some ice cream. Little Z had chocolate ice cream. She sat there in her underpants at the kitchen table and painted her body with chocolate ice cream. Then she went into the bathroom and cleaned it off with wet toilet paper, throwing each bit of chocolate covered wet toilet paper on the floor of the bathroom when she finished using it. "You know," I told her, "People see brown toilet paper all over the place, and they might get the wrong idea."

Part 2: Little Z has a little potty in her room. It's supposed to be for going pee in the middle of the night. "No poop!" I tell her. "Poop always goes in the toilet!"

Part 3: I went outside today for a couple of hours to water our fledgling orchard. It was hot as a mildly warm day today, so we were freaking out. I went around to water. Bad Assed Husband took care of Little Z, who is four. This involved playing with her a bit and giving her a bath and puting her to bed. Sometime during this process, this habitual ritual, he found a pillowcase that had brown stuff on it. He thought it was chocolate from earlier. He started to wash it, and realized, as he held it, wet and rancid in his hand, that it was wet poop. He held in his hand, his hand that he takes with him everywhere, the hand that he eats with, the hand which is connected to his body, he held in this hand a pillowcase full of wet poop. It was dripping.

Part 4: He didn't kill her. He didn't even hit her! It just shows what fatherhood does to a kind person. He had a nice talk with her, in which it was revealed that she had pooped in the potty chair, and decided to clean it up herself. And then to clean it up, she had put it into the pillowcase. In the end, he was only really angry with her for not warning him about what was in the pillowcase. He suppressed an urge to tell her that "poop in a pillowcase" was good alliteration.

Part 5: I came home at her bedtime, and tucked her in. I went downstairs and BAH had all the horrors of the universe written on his face. A whiskey in hand. And he told me. The horror. The horror of the poop in the pillowcase. The wet poop in the pillowcase.