The Magic Word

My Dear Fellows and Dear Princess,

Years and years ago, Aussie Jo was threatening to get all of our circle personalised t-shirts. It never happened, but it was a good idea while we were all drunk. 

Jo's theme was that we would get a t-shirt with our favourite word on it. This will mean very little to anyone but Fat Pete, but here's what she was proposing:

Lisa - "Trauma"
Jim - "Hash"
Michelle - "Evidently"
Caro - "Taxi!"
Me - "Poo"

I don't know from where I get this reputation for being poo-obsessed. It is true, I have spent my life collecting stories about People Who Poo, and that I once owned a t-shirt of a cheeky monkey that said, "I Fling Poo" but really, is that so unusual?

Anyway, word must have followed me, because now Lemon has figured it out too. She told her kids.

LEMON: He thinks poo is funny. Just the word is enough to make him laugh.
KID 1: Hee hee hee.
LEMON: See? You think it's funny too.
KID 1: No I don't.
LEMON: Poo.
KID 1: Hee hee hee.
KID 2: You are SO immature.
KID 1: Poo.
KID 2: Hee hee hee.

But the kids needed to establish some facts:

KID 1: So he thinks poo is funny?
KID 2: And he's OLD?
LEMON: Yes. He's as old as me.
KID 1: And he's WHITE?

I hate to admit it, but I am as old as I am white.

Lemon told me that she got in late last night from a really boring meeting on engaging with the community on schools. She found her one of her boys had managed to talk his dad into letting him stay up late.

"You are NOT allowed to be up past nine o'clock," Lemon told her son. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

"Poo?" said her boy.

"So I let him stay up another hour," said Lemon.

That conversation helped the day go by, but this week has dragged. After our weekend guests I have been disembogulated all week, and unsure what day it is. All day long I've been thinking it is Friday.

But no. It is still Thursday.

Poo.

S.