This week I had the brilliant idea to set up TheWiseOne with an account that he can text me through on the computer.
He’s 10. So, this seemed like a logical choice. Texting is so quick and accessible. But, I’m sure I don’t need to sing the praises of texting to you. I think the world understands the beauty of it well enough.
I thought it was especially amazing as I answered the call of Mother Nature, but she forgot to send me ample toilet paper.
As I used the last bits of precious ply, I snagged my phone off the counter (because, let’s be honest, we all take our phones with us) and sent the following message to TheWiseOne:
Me: “I have a first world problem. I need toilet paper upstairs. Can you help a sister out?”
I wait rather impatiently and strain to hear the sounds of my savior’s footsteps coming up the stairs.
I send another message: “Are you alive?! I don’t wanna use my own socks!!!”
Nothing. Suddenly this text messaging thing doesn’t seem so brilliant.
Now I have to resort to my back up–TheBaldEagle. I was trying not to bother him since he was in the basement working, but a girl has to do what a girl has to do.
I send a plea for help to TheBaldEagle: “I need TP for my bunghole. Just plug your nose and toss a roll.”
TheBaldEagle replies: “I’m in the basement pooping.”
This is quite possibly the most disappointing text of my life. The fates are surely laughing hysterically at me.What did I do to deserve this? Did I sit on a child and fart on him in a past life? Whatever I did, karma has arrived, and she has a sick sense of humor.
Now I’ve been sentenced to the unthinkable. I pull my pants up and do the waddle of shame to the nearest TP supply.
And then, after I’ve gotten myself clean and humanized again, I receive this text message from TheWiseOne: “I am alive, mommy.”
Thanks. Good to know.