The Boy Child returned from his Excellent European Adventure, and driving to the airport I was about to jump out of my dry, crinkly skin I was so excited to see him. Out he comes into the terminal with his big ‘ol smile and I swear he looks older, like a guy who’s got a lot more confidence cuz he’s gotten a taste of the fabulous world out there.
We stayed up until midnight while he passed out gifts and showed us the snaps he’d taken. How very British. In between I asked the mom questions. How did you sleep? Did you like the food? Did everybody get along? And then I asked this………. were you constipated?
Big Daddy and Little Big Daddy were like WHAT THE WHAT? Why would you ask that? Geez, oh man, are you kidding me? Har, har, har, that’s so dumb, Mom.
Ten years ago, we went to the beach in South Carolina for a week. I’ve got a whole album of snaps where I have a forced smile that is more like a highly-controlled grimace. My memories of that trip are of laying in the sun, day after day, trying to relax while being so constipated that I was more likely baking my bowels like a birthday bundt cake, making any movement of them impossible.